


It all started with you...

by Innerbeaty



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depression, Explicit Language, Fluff, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post Season 6, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Therapy, author has editing fetish, cringy start, what the f is a timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 47
Words: 116,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innerbeaty/pseuds/Innerbeaty
Summary: "I really doubt that I am anything but straight" Mickey's face falls, and Lip internally groans."Mick, listen. I can come out as bi or anything you want. I can go change my status on Facebook to 'out and proud'. I can lead next pride parade in nothing but a Tinker-bell costume, but it won't change the fact that the only guy I am into is you."It's rare for Mickey not to have anything to say, so Lip assumes that the guy is shocked, to say the least. Who wouldn't be? That's why he continues."For all I know, that I want to press you against that couch and make out until one of us faints."or,Story of how Mickey overcomes his infamous Break Up with Ian. His sister gets married to a famous shrink that fully invests in Mickey's mental health. In the process, Mickey gets a scholarship to college where he studies art and applies for a job as a waiter in the restaurant that is administrated by Lip Gallagher.
Relationships: Lip Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mandy Milkovich/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 148
Kudos: 126





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

**June 27th**

It's been 3 pm and Lip got two more people to interviews. Susan- his assistant slash barman, said that the next guy is gonna be a little late. Apparently, he is a college student or something. Being late for a job interview is not a good thing to do, but who is he to judge, besides it's not like its national security position or something. Just waiting. It's been almost one year since Lip started working here as an administrator in a mildly fancy restaurant of North Side called "Beryozka". Hard to pronounce, very Russian, but fair to mention that besides the name and couple of dishes on the menu, there wasn't much from Russian culture. Unlike the real Russian restaurant down the street called "Moskva" where you could hear Russian and Central Asian speech coming from inside. The owner is a Russian immigrant who owned three restaurants aside from this one with a similar name. He has just arrived in Chicago to open Bersyozka and participated too AA meetings, where Lip met him. He has a very tough accent but his accent is nothing compare to the speaker.

"Call me Sasha, my friend," he said, but somehow he ends up calling him Alex. It was Alex who approached him after a session. He always seemed to be genuinely listening of what Lip has been telling about his family and about his dreams and the exact time he stopped having them.

"You know, u remind me young me. My youth lays on criminal '90s in post-Soviet Russia. Eat or be eaten. People were selling their souls for little or no importance. You understand what I am saying? But lucky for me, I met right person and here I am free and independent." He hired Lip as his assistant. A month later after they opened he left for NY leaving Lip as an administrator. Lip worked very hard. He runs the whole business although he tries to stay away from the bar as far as possible for obvious reasons. That is where Susan was so irreplaceable. Most of the time sobriety wasn't a problem, but he didn't want to tempt it. His family still were in Southside. Well, most of its part. 

Lip looked at the desktop of his laptop. The wallpaper on it was changing from one shaded background, just like days in his life was changing one by another. He doesn't remember when life lost its color. When dark day and bight days merged into one line of gray tasteless days, one prototype of another. He remembers facing one failure, two failures, and three failures, but at some point, he had to admit that the more he was thriving the worse he was doing. It has to be some Gallagher family's fucking personal curse. Someone up there must be having a lot of fun, giving hope to him, and watching his life collapsing into the abyss, waving Lip good-bye. At some point, Lip decides to go with a flow. He gives up. He is not exceptional. He just part of the grey mass colled society. 

Someone knocked on the door, which was a formality because it got opened not waiting for a reply. The man entered the room, looked around, unmistakably spotted Lip, and froze. Lip focused his vision on the face of the entered guy and froze too. Oh. He could have mistaken cause guy looked less sloppy then Lip remembers, and more mature. But those eyes, that posture, and that familiar surprised expression. He can't be wrong. It was Mickey, Mickey Milkovich, Ian's ex who went to the prison right after they have broken up. What is he doing here?

"Gallagher?" Lip frowned. He used to call that his brother.  
"You are the administrator?"

"Uh...yes...Yeah, I am" what with the words? He inhaled. " You hear for interview." finally guessed after oxygen had reached his brain. 

"Yeah, I saw an ad and..." he made a vague gesture. Lip felt waves of relief that he wasn't the only one feeling awkward and if he wasn't the only one feeling awkward, it wasn't weird that he was feeling awkward. 

"You want to ..." He gestured to the chair in front of him.

"Wait, Sue said that the next interviewee is a college student" remembered Lip. If he didn't know better Lip could have sworn that he saw Mickey blushing. 

"Yeah, that would be me." Lip stared at him not knowing how to react to that. Milkovich and education weren't exactly compatible thing. He didn't think that any of them would study anything that doesn't involve guns or drugs. So that was the reason by his surprise, but Mickey interpreted his silence in his own way."I know it's weird to be in college at 27 but it sort of happened." he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Lip for unknown for him reasons felt like a dick for not responding right away. 

"No, no, man. It's just I didn't expect you to go to college. I mean, not because you are not smart enough. But you know, you are a Milkovich. Your brothers didn't go to college and..." Mickey raised his eyebrows and only then Lip rerun what he just said in his head. "Fuck, dude, I didn't mean to insult whole your family..." 

"Yeah, man you should really fucking stop talking before you start insulting my mother." Despite what he has said he was smiling, which somehow threw Lip further from his mental comfort zone. Lip suddenly finds himself thinking, did he ever seen Mickey smiling. The answer was yes, and he remembers almost each of them. He ignores his inner voice telling him it was kinda weird thing to think. 

"You are right." After a pause that he used to catch his breath, he asked: "How is your family?"

"Well, father died five years ago." 

"Yeah, I heard. I'm sorry." Mickey didn't seem interested. "What happened?"

"Got ten shots when he sat on a throne. What a way to go!" 

"Well, at least he died doing what he loved to do." Lip found himself saying before he could think properly and oh. Mickey's jaw dropped and he blinked a couple of times. Lip was sure that now he is definitely getting punched. Milkovich wasn't a family model. But what they had something that put them on the top of the food chain. They were cutting throats and stubbing for each other. And not always figuratively. But corners of Mickey's mouth started to lift up and he looked at Lip with a fresh view and little sparkles in his eyes. 

  
"Did you just fucking made fun of my dead father" Lip really didn't know what to say. Contrary to his words, Mickey didn't seem mad at all. 

"You're right. Sorry. I should have delivered my condolences first" and something has broken in both of them cause starting with small giggles it accelerated to nearly uncontrollable laugh. It wasn't even funny, but both of them had a very tensed beginning, and what happened has just happened. That is the moment when Sue decided to come in. She looked at them amused at first but seeing them laughing she visibly relaxed.

  
"What's so funny," she asked and smiled expecting to hear a joke. 

  
"His dad was shot while sitting on a bowl," said Lip wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Noooo!" Sue referred that even if Lip is a boss he can't laugh at that, but heard Mickey saying. 

"He did, he really fucking did." She just glared at them and for a second it seemed like she is about to say something, but then just turned around and left the room.

"She thinks we are nuts" pointed Lip catching his breath.

"She is fortunate not to know my father" added Mickey. That was true. Nearly anybody who has known Terry Milkovich probably thought that he is the worst person they have met. 

"What about your siblings. I know Iggy is still in South Side."

"Yeah, man. He still lives in that shithole we used to call home. But he's with his new wife it looked more like a place where people live. Even, Mandy gave up on that place, but Becca seemed to give a new life to that place." 

"How is Mandy? I remember Ian said she run off" if the mention of Ian somehow affected him, Mickey hide it very well. 

"You won't believe, she is a fucking suburb trophy wife now."

"No way!"  
  
"I know. She lives in California with that super-rich psychology doctor or whatever. They are so irritating. Like those motherfucker couples who always need to be reminded to get a fucking room. When I just got our of the prison I lived with them for about a year. Man is annoying but not bad. You should have seen him, man. Back in high-school Mandy would beat the shit out of him and made him do her homework but now she looks at him like the sun shines out of his ass." He chuckled.   
"What happened then...after a year you lived with them." Mickey hesitated, looking at Lip deciding whether or not to answer his question. 

"I got a scholarship to the college in North Side." Lip was certain that there is a backstory of what he said.   
"Anyway," he said and looked at Mickey's CV on his hands. There weren't many things to look at. He mentioned that he worked in "sales" around the time if Lip is right he worked in Kash& Grab. Then he apparently has worked in the hospitality industry and Lips pretty sure he was known for being a pimp for his wife. He couldn't hold a grin looking at Mickey above the A4 paper who was observing his hands with extra necessity then it's required. 

"Last two years you worked as a mechanic." Mickey lifts his head looking at Lip with those big blue eyes and Lip for a moment gets lost. He clears his throat. "Is it some cipher for stealing cars?" and Mickey's face fell. From what Lip remembers it's easy to say when Mickey is nervous. He steps from one foot to another, his gaze doesn't stay on one object more than two seconds and says all shit he can come up with to cover his nervousness, threatens you and then punches you in the gut. Lip doesn't want to think why he knows things about Mickey more than about most of his exes. Mickey stands quickly and takes his bag and puts it on his shoulder. He steps from one foot to another predictably avoiding Lip's gaze. 

"You know, man. That was a mistake. I should probably go," and before Lip could comment it storms our of his office. Well, that's something new. What is he suppose to do now? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a backstory of three year's of Mickey's life

In prison Mandy has contacted him. They were talking the whole time he was there. She was the same and yet he felt like he was talking to a completely different person. It was still the same fuckhead sister of his, but she seemed...not scared. Not like she seemed scared before, but the thing about Milkoviches that they are always scared. Well maybe not scared but always tensed. You always need to be prepared to attack or run. Adrenaline produces in their body with such a consistency that it could provide one small hospital for a week. And everything they did and said used to come from this dark, dark place where all their fears, rage and insecurities lived. 

Mickey wondered what it is like not to feel constant fear in your blood, in your veins, in your dreams. How was it not to be always ready to run or have back up plans? He is so sick of back up plans. But she seemed fine, almost like when their mother was alive. Mickey thought it's stupid. He hated it. But he couldn't help but feel inspired. 

She was writing him letters and one of the guards was giving him phone his every Wednesday and Sunday afternoons in exchange for cash, of course, so he could talk to her. And they just talked and talked. Something they never did when they were together.

At first, Mickey felt weird. Even complained saying he is not some whimpy twink to talk about his feelings and stuff. He was expecting her to fight and hang up. But she just laughed and asked if there are only whimpy twinks talk about their feelings. She does that very often. Says or asks something he doesn't expect so it pushes him out of his comfort zone and forces him to stay present. Mandy denies it, but Mickey 95% certain that it's some shrink's trick Malcolm taught her.   
  
She likes to talk about their past, about their childhood and their mother, about all happy moments that are painful to remember because they are long gone. But she was effortlessly pulling him into those memories giving him an illusion that his life didn't suck that much. 

He was released three years later. Mickey was both happy and nervous to see his sister next to Iggy waiting for her silly brother with a grin prepared only for him. Part of Mickey was afraid that all magic of their communication will be gone as soon as they face each other, but she just laughed and pulled him into a tight hug "Pinch my nipple and I'll bite off your ear" she breathed into his year. He wouldn't admit at gunpoint that he hugged her back and even let her kiss him in the cheek. 

She took him to California. She knew that if he stayed he would be a lost cause. And he, he was just happy not to face certain red-heads. In three years they talked about him a couple of times. It took Mickey lots of time and effort to actually admit that he loved Ian, that it broke his heart to see him sick and how he was mad him for breaking up with Mickey. 

Although he didn't voice it and they both knew already was that he felt relief. It was painful to look directly at the sun that Ian was for him. But it was harder to look your sun slowly going out. Before all this Bipolar shit Mickey was enough for Ian, but after Mickey was slowly and voluntarily turning into a person he wasn't sure he wanted to be. Like some part of him was dying with everything that was left of Ian. Ironically, Ian felt exactly the same, but unlike Mickey, he had enough balls to voice it. Mickey wasn't selfish enough rip this fucked up circle and was pulling against the flow so hard that even cloud-headed fucking depressed Ian could see that it wasn't gonna work.   
Mandy understood. She did it so effortlessly that sometimes Mickey was scared that he was talking his thoughts out. 

They left Chicago and all the way to Mandy's home she wouldn't stop talking about Malcolm. They met at ceremony or shit, where she was waitressing. Said when she went to the stairs to smoke she found someone bent over heavily breathing. At first, she thought he was having a heart attack or some allergy reaction. Luckily there was a whole floor fool of doctors. He caught her hand. When she looked at him he stopped her with a silent plea in his eyes. He said that he has a fear of public speaking and asked her to talk to him. She sat next to him on a top stair, lighted a joint, took a drag and extended to him. He said he's never done drugs, she didn't insist just mentioned that he's already fucked up, so he could at least enjoy it. 

Turned out that it wasn't as ceremony as some event where Malcolm, that genius he is, was reading a short lecture on his research. Well, the lecture was fun. People thought he is drunk tho. But all his hidden ("what charisma?" asked Mickey and got smacked at the back of his head) not restricted by natural chronic shyness charm ("what again? Ouch, stop!") was presented in all its beauty. 

After the event Malcolm found Mandy and they just sat there, talking until it's early in the morning. He told her about his childhood. How he was born a weak kid and had to spend his entire childhood in hospitals. How he always was so eager to make friends, but for one or another reason couldn't make it. Being an unhealthy and the only child of rich parents that named him after grand grandfather somehow didn't help. He told how being physically ill he understood, it was the mind that first brings you down. That reminded her about Ian. He told her about his work, about how he wanted to make people's lives better and she believed him and hoped that someday he would. 

She told him about her life and her family, and of course about Ian. She told about the contrast of their lives before and after their mother had died. She told how she was felt alone and how Mickey, her brother, was silently sitting next to her, listening to her sobbing, not unsure what to do, but not daring to move away. She remembered how he always used to take all blame for her at home and school, even though no one taught him how to care or basics for morality. How she had shitty taste in men and she always falls for assholes because happiness and that shit weren't made for people like her. She told him about Ian and her brother, how she envied them and hate herself for not being able to be happy for her brother and best friend. How she sometimes punished herself by hooking up with wrong guys who'd easily say they loved her so she could pretend just for a moment that it is true. He listened and listened and didn't say anything that at some point she thought that maybe he wasn't paying attention but then he put his hand on her and squeezed it slightly. 

There couldn't be more different people, and yet here there is a boy who is used to being rejected and yet didn't leave a hope to be part of a relationship ( well, any relationship) and is too weird for people to understand and/or accept him. And there was a girl, so broken and so lost, who finally wanted to be loved even though she was convinced that she doesn't deserve to be loved, was convinced that she has to deserve love. It's the beginning of a beautiful love story, absolutely crazy love story because if you think those jugheads just fell in love instantly and lived happily ever after, you couldn't be more wrong. 


	3. Chapter 3

On a second month living with them Mickey thought that Malcolm was not as bad as you may expect. Aside from the constant need to talk about Mickey's feelings and the therapy sessions when you least expect. Mickey was mad at the beginning, saying he is not a crackbrain and that Malcolm can go fuck himself with all his therapy shit. Malcolm usually makes such a sad face, like in those cartoons Mickey used to watch as a kid, and silently leaving him and always coming back with a double afford. Mandy didn't get involved in this Sesame Street level battles but Mickey could swear to see her smirking like if she knows that eventually, he is going to crack. 

Malcolm encouraged him to keep a diary or journal. Mickey flipped him off saying he is not fucking 12 years old girl. The next day he came with a pile of paper, pens, pencils, paints saying that Mandy has told that he likes to draw, and that should help with his therapy. Like that Mickey started drawing again. He was drawing almost all the time. In the beginning, it was depressing drawings and Mickey finished all-black paint on dark creepy shadows. 

One-day Malcolm came into his room and looked around. The room that used to be Scandinavian minimalism turned into Southside made trash. He nodded satisfied like if he was making sure that all the right things were in all the right places. Then he looked up to up to Mickey with a wide grin. Mickey knew this grin. It was "Mickey, let's talk about your first sex intercourse" grin, or "Mickey, I have a friend of mine who you might be interested in. Well, more patient then friend, but he finished his rehab, so I'm not his doctor anymore." grin, or "Mickey, sit down its your (smoking, swearing, drinking, BREATHING, etc) intervention" grin. He would have kicked his ass long before, but couldn't for 1) Mandy would literally break his leg if Mickey touched him slightly harder than it's necessary, and 2) he seemed always so excited about having a friend who he jogs around wagging his tail, Mickey couldn't make himself bring this grown-up child down. 

"Mickey, I think that you are not fond of the design of your room." He started from afar. Is he asking him to leave this way? Mickey narrowed his eyes while he continued lively "This is not you. This interior, these walls and this, and this..." He randomly pointed at objects in the room. "...is not you. You understand?" Mickey nodded. Of course, he understands, he knows when he is not welcomed, which is very...very often. 

"I do. Give me a week or so, I will find a new place to move in" Malcolm gaped at him catching air with his mouth. 

"No. NO! You can't leave." The last one he whimpered like a child. "We just started bonding. We are this close to become BFFs, you can't do this to me. You can't do this to us! We are Milcolm...or.eh.. Malckey" 

"The fuck? No one calls us that" 

"That's not true. I call us that." he practically shouted. " I call us Milckey..eh..Micholm. Nothing good comes of Malcolm!" 

"You said that, not me" muttered Mickey hiding the grin. Malcolm blushed deeply but lightened up.

"See! You are messing with me. We are practically brothers!"

"Yes, genius. In-law." 

"Then, don't leave!"

"What was the interior shit was then about?" Malcolm looked on the floor, a tip of the feet is digging a carpet. How this child can be almost 30 years old? 

"What would you say if we redecorate your room. You can paint your walls the way you want. You know, and we can go to the store and buy you new furniture and bedsheets and stuff you need."  
Mickey looked at him dumbfounded. Something unfamiliar twitched inside Mickey. 

"Ok," he said shortly, avoiding his gaze. 

"Really?" Malcolm didn't bother hiding excitement in his voice. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot to send you back your RVSP?" 

They went to the store, bought paint, brushes, tape and other stuff. While they were working Malcolm wouldn't stop talking, telling him about his childhood, about his love for a fishing, how Mandy is the gifted fisher and fish practically follow her whenever she is near the water "I'm telling you they were just jumping to her feet. Can I blame them though? She has nice pair of feet." He added with a hiccup. He got tipsy after two cans of beer. 

"Ok, dude. Easy on the corners. That's my sister and that's nasty." 

"What?" And after a moment of silence, his understanding hit his face and shake it off. "Wait, no. I mean I wouldn't hesitate to fall to her feet. I feel like I've already fell to her feet." He added. Mandy entered exact same moment with a tray of food.  
"Who is *she* and what's **her* address?" she put the tray on the table, sat next to Malcolm and run her fingers though is hair, while he melted under her touch looking into her eyes so lovingly. The guy was too far and long gone. 

That's how Mickey caught himself, at first, adding comments to whatever he was saying, then answering questions and end up telling about a racist, homophobe and just horrible teacher in his middle school who embarrassed him in front of the whole class, and after that, his father has bitten shit of him in front of one of his classmates as a solidarity to the teacher. Malcolm listened silently then stood up and approached Mickey. "Hug me and I'll shove your head into your ass." 

Malcolm gaped "That is so, not what I was gonna do." He said avoiding any eye contact and shoving his hands into the pocket.  
"I'm sorry," he said and then tried to give a light punch on Mickey's shoulder "Bro," he added grinning. Mickey shook his head. 

14 hours later they have finished painting. Or Mickey finished, cause Malcolm wasn't allowed to help, the man is trained for nothing. On the main wall, Mickey has drawn a doodle sketch of a skull in black and white. On other walls, he made abstract grey shapes and lines. He liked it. It was him. The room was him.

"Wow, I expected to see Draculas Coffin or Virgin Emo's room," Mickey tiredly flipped her off. 

After that he was starting to feel more comfortable opening up to Malcolm. Involuntarily he was telling him things he tried to hide even from himself. And things he couldn't tell he expressed in his drawings. Mostly there were shapes that seemed pointless, shades that were objectless. But Malcolm every time would stare at them very carefully and then just give a half nod as if making a conclusion that is clear only for him. 

Mickey made his last effort to hold the fort against this therapy thing until one morning after two-hour session Mickey didn't wake up feeling wonderful. Like he had a nice rest first time in many many years. And the same thing happened the next day, and the day after that. At some point, he got that it was because he didn't have nightmares anymore, or dreams where he was running away or was fighting faceless opponent, or chasing some red-headed blurry silhouette. It affected his day-to-day mood either. He felt too lazy to fight, snap or complain. It felt like now he had a choice not to do it, as before it was an unavoidable reaction from him. When he shared it with Mandy, she just smiled and said it's gonna get even better and the first time Mickey didn't feel skeptical about positive changes. Because why not? He was more eager to participate in all this thing, even to those weird exercises, where you have to scream, moan, fight the air and other weird things to the questionable music on a background.

Soon enough he learned about side effects of his therapy. After what seemed like a successful session Mickey has had emotional episodes. He could feel very strong and irrational emotions like fury, anxiety, frustration, sorrow suddenly appear with no reason behind. Sometimes small anxiety attacks that would disappear as suddenly as they appeared. Other times he could fall into depression and spend one or two days in his bed staring at the wall thinking about Ian, and how hard it must have been for him. Depressions wouldn't last more than two days. Mickey would have fucking stop all this mind-twisting shit if every episode didn't leave Mickey shocked, exhausted but relieved. He felt like if he lost a huge cargo that he used to carry whole his life. Apparently it was part of therapy Malcolm "forgot" to mention. Emotions he suppressed for years were stashed in his body over the years, and they were getting released. He suggested to be as objective as possible, but even without his guidance, it felt right, natural. He is going to be alright.


	4. Chapter 4

Six months later

In LA Mickey saw life from complete different sides. He learned to enjoy things that would make him uncomfortable before, mostly because they would make him feel poor. It was easier to think that rich people are douchebags, cause otherwise how is it fair. It was protecting his ego. But now, he can't imagine living a day without his caramel latte with extra cream and sugar, or clean cotton sheets, or food that doesn't cause pyrosis. He learned not to feel sorry for enjoying them. He still had a hard time getting used to going out for picnics, fishing, ARV tours and other activities that Malcolm was dying to show. He was dragging them to parties, restaurant opening, theaters and he was suffering stoically was suffering through them. Suffering was too harsh word. After Mickey started his therapy he found that most people if not pleasant then, well, bearable. Don't get him wrong he still thinks that most of them are annoying, but now at least he doesn't want to punch them all the time. It has affected his art. Now he was more eager to experiment with new colors and expressing objects in new perceptive. 

Most of days they've been spending at home getting drunk, smoking weed and laughing at Malcolm who still couldn't smoke properly. One of these days they were lying, tv was turned on but no one really was paying any attention. Malcolm rested on Mandy's chest and seemed to pass out. 

"Do you miss him?" She asked looking at him expectantly. "Do you still love him?" is the question behind it that she tactfully doesn't ask. 

"I don't know. I feel like less and less, but I can say for sure if I see him." She nods understandingly. Malcolm makes a half moan half sigh making her look at him with adoring he's never seen on her face. She runs her fingers through his hair and places a kiss on his temple. 

"You probably will stop loving him in the near future. Are you ok with it?" She doesn't look at him so he won't feel awkward and shut down. Talking about feelings still is not his strongest side. He doesn't answer and when she thinks he won't she hears weak. "I will be" 

A month later he has woken up during the night with a panic attack. He focuses on his breath as Malcolm taught him but every exhale is more and more shaky than previous. He feel nauseous and he can feel cold sweat all over his body. It felt like grief and sorrow filling his heart. It felt like a heart-break, belated heart-break that he feels in full range. And then he cries sobbing into the pillow. That was real and now it's gone. Before waking up he had a regular dream chasing a red-headed figure but today for the first time in many years he stopped. He didn't go after him. Maybe he wouldn't get what his subconscious was trying to say to him, but his heart couldn't lie. 

Next morning Mandy finds him painting. She stands behind his shoulder. The painting expresses view through someone's eyes like looking through VR glasses. Lower edges were shiny of water, that most likely represented tears. The owner is crying or at least holding tears. He is waving to the silhouette with a red-head that is walking away. 

Mickey looks up at her smiling. He looks tired like if he didn't sleep for days, but his shoulders are relaxed and don't get tensed when she puts both of her hands on them, "It's a farewell" he says with a deep sigh. She smiles back at him trying hard to hold her tears. 

"It's beautiful." they look at it a bit more. " Where do you want to hang it?" 

"I was thinking about giving it away for that charity auction. Malcolm was asked to give a couple of paintings away." She looks at him expectantly, not sure if she has to talk him out of it.

"You ok with it?" She asked. 

"I am"


	5. Chapter 5

**June 27th**

Mickey was sitting in his studio. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now, what the fuck was that? Lip, Lip Gallagher? Of all people in Chicago, he had to come to one of a few people who know his autobiography. And the most embarrassing was how he runs off like a sissy little bitch.

Old Mickey would beat piss out of current Mickey for being such a pussy. Old Mickey would beat piss out of current Mickey for many things if we are completely honest. Mickey has noticed that he more and more often puts a line between old and current self. Malcolm says that it's normal, that he just looks at his past with fresh, objective, and not triggered mind, and then started telling some physiological shit. Mickey hung up with no regret. He mostly loved this guy, but he was such a fucking sickener sometimes. While he was living with Mandy and Malcolm he couldn't avoid his presence, now he did it with no hesitation when it's required. Which, let's be honest, a lot. The thing about Malcolm (beside him carrying old man's name) is that he is weird. Like, seriously, weird. The man has the thickest skin and no matter what Mickey called him and how he treated him, especially at the beginning, he would come back with a wider grin like that baby lemur from Madagascar.

Which brings us back to Lip Fucking Gallagher. Jesus Christ. Mickey couldn't blame him for anything. Why would he? Mickey knows that he overreacted. Lip probably was messing with him, but ever since he entered that office he felt disoriented. Like his past in present came across in a very messy way and like old and new Mickey was fighting over who will be in charge. He didn't know how to react, what to say. There is no handbook 'how to act when you meet your former boyfriend's brother, who also interviews you for a job when his brother broke up with you two minutes before you were arrested and taken to the prison for the crime you, well partly committed'. He was surprised to see Lip, to say the least, at first. Then it has turned into nostalgia. About rare days that didn't suck in South Side. He knew if he wasn't so insecure, he and Lip could have been friends back in the days. Lip is the smart Gallagher, always know-all, unintentionally made him feel idiot, and, oh Boy, Mickey did everything to avoid that feeling. Just like he did everything not to feel or be gay. Usually, it involved beating the shit out of a source of his distress. Unluckily for second Gallagher, he was the source of both: feeling stupid and gay. God, he almost forgot about his middle school phase involving certain curly motherfuckers. Moments like this he regrets that he can't use the old good feeling of rage to live through it. He doesn't do that anymore. He lost the superpower of his to get mad for no reason and in no time. Now, he runs apparently, like a wuss. 

Mickey's apartment has two bedrooms, one of which Mickey made his own studio. And most importantly it was 20 minutes away from his school. The flat owner needed money and his only condition was that Mickey had to give his payment a year ahead, which was a problem at first until Malcolm with a huge grin didn't hand him a cheque shaking his hand like it was Mickey the one who is doing him a favor. Of course, he gave everything back by doing part-time as a mechanic/auto body painter and by running drugs with price three times higher than in South Side to amateur spoiled brats in his college. There was nothing heavy. Just a good old weed, LCD, and a couple of pills for a better concentration.

The thing about his college is that the school of art and business school is located separately from the rest of the college. That was a massive problem in the first semester since Mickey didn't know any of it and has had selected classes in a way that they were in conflict with each other. He physically couldn't get from destination A to destination B in a given amount of time. He almost lost his scholarship that semester. Coming semester he was smarter and moved out form a dorm that scholarship covered. He didn't get a fee for not living in a dorm, so he had to find a job, which he did, surprisingly thanks to Iggy. The auto repair shop where he worked was opening a subsidiary in North Side. It was quite far from his flat, and Mickey had to spend an hour to get there, but he used to spend that time reading, and the owner used to be easy on him. There weren't many college students from the South Side. He was proud. But, unfortunately, they couldn't stand the competition. In South Side, you do your job and you do it well, people will come to you no matter what. Herewith all those marketing beasts, they didn't stand a chance.

Now Mickey was jobless and didn't know what to do. It was the summer holidays and there wasn't much demand for drugs, just a couple of regulars. That restaurant was perfect for him. It was located between his home and college. It was close and the salary was really attractive. It would solve a bunch of his problems. But, of course, the person who hires suppose to be Lip. He can maintain for now but with the start of the new semester, it will be a lot harder, cause even though school provided art supply kit he had to buy additional stuff. Artists are broke because making art costs money and not small. He was happy that he had color theory first year of school it saved him a fortune on paints and he was making his own hardboard panels instead of canvas, although not many students draw on real canvas yet. He was doing best he is at- surviving. But he has a son, that he needed to provide. The kid was growing up, so was his needs. 

Later that day lying on his bed, chilled after a shower he runs that day in his head again objectively, how Malcolm always says. It probably was good that he didn't get that job. Ian probably would come to visit his brother, and he really didn't want to open that door again. Preferably never ever, but he knew that he had to face the reality he lives in. They are neighbors with his brother, he will meet him eventually. The thing with Ian was undefined. Back in the days, it was so easy. You hate somebody, you punch him. You like somebody you fuck him. Now, he had to question every emotion, seeking for root, and Mickey would put shit on it if it didn't give him some emotional relief and something that distantly reminded a hope for happiness. He was certain he loved Ian but wasn't certain if he loved him for the right reasons. With Ian, he was him again. He didn't have to be tough or whatever. Looking in those beautiful smiley eyes on the freckly face he too wanted to touch that warm ray of joy that constantly followed Ian. Now when Mickey sees that he doesn't need Ian or anybody to feel that light, Mickey may even feel embarrassed and guilty for pulling the whole Ian&Mickey thing that far.

In the morning he was woken up by phone call. The number was unknown.

"Hi, is it Mickey?"

"Yeah, who is it again?" he was annoyed and back in the days he would say to this woman everything he thinks about her.

"It's Susan. An assistant from Beryozka. We met yesterday"

"Oh, Hi Susan" Mickey said on autopilot.

"Yeah, I wanted to say that we are hiring you and expect you to come to fix some details and you can start your training." She misinterpreted silence when he didn't respond " Of course if you are still interested"

"Wait, what?" And after a short pause. "I am hired? Like for real?" he must sound really surprised because there was a long stretched pause on the line and for a moment he thought that she hung up but then she suddenly asked teasingly: "You do know that you passed an interview to become a waiter, not American next model?" Mickey laughed with relief. He was hired.

"Yeah, I gave up on that at the age of 16 when stopped growing, so." she chuckled lightly. They decided to meet in an hour but Mickey was there half an hour later.

"Well," she raised her eyebrows " you are really excited. Is it your dream job or something?" he chuckled.

"No, I am just a broke soon-to-be artist"

"Oh, then that explains everything. We have almost one almost actor, more or less author, and well-nigh supermodel. We have a full pack," she smiled encouragingly.

"I wasn't sure that Lip would hire me," he mumbled not sure why he is mentioning that. 

"Lip? He said you are hired right after you left. He didn't even interview the guy after you." she responded not pulling her face of the shift schedule for the month, and that's why she didn't see Mickey's raised eyebrows and gaped expression. 

What made him hire Mickey? Is it something in his mind? He is going to learn it sooner or later, but for now, he got a fucking job.

It's still good right? Sue pulled him from his thoughts shoving the schedule table.


	6. Chapter 6

He can do this. He is grown-ass brutal tough man, mean he will open this Goddamn door, will graciously enter the room, will extend his hand to Lip looking right into his eyes firmly say: "Thanks man, for hiring, sorry for storming out, you know, no hard feelings." He can do it. Why the heck is he even nervous, it's his stupid classmate Lip.   
Okay, he was standing there for whole ten minutes people will think he is weird, when they are suppose to learn it a lot later.   
"Okay," he murmured and then added "Thank you and sorry" in exaggeratedly low baritone.   
He knocked then door and immediately entered before his mind offered him to run off. Lip was sitting on his laptop typing something. He lifted his head and then focused on Mickey.   
"Mickey," he acknowledges him. 

"Yeah," what was the line? Right, "thank you and sorry," it came out quieter then he expected, and he forgot to make his fake baritone. He cleared throat focussing his gaze on upper right corner of the room behind Lip. "I just wanted to thank you for hiring, and sorry that stormed out, yesterday like a bitch,"   
Lip stared a bit longer, then just shook his head chuckling.  
"'S ok, man. I get it," he nodded, " and don't thank me. Of all people you were the best option." Mickey gave him skeptical look, "You, know, there wasn't many people to interview anyway. You were the last." When Mickey was about to ask something, "Did you talk to Sue?" 

"Yeah, she said I can start tomorrow."   
"Great. Now, if you will excuse me I need a work to finish".   
Mickey left the office in deep in thoughts. He said that there were no many people applied for the job, when it's obviously a lie. Why has he lied? 

When door closed behind Mickey Lip stopped all pretend working and sighed deeply. Rubbing the bridge of his nose he was thinking how Mickey always been a really twisted puzzle for him, whenever he thought that he unraveled him, Mickey would throw something that would make Lip feel like he stuck. He stoped learned not underestimate that Milkovich. If he came to that conclusion in his early age it could have saved him from a couple of painful tet-a-tets with Mickey. a million question was why in the fucking world he hired him? He felt bad for the guy after Ian had broken up with him, but it's not like it was his fault anyway, besides compassion was irrational thing in general, not to say not Lip's thing whatsoever. And not like he was throwing the guy to the streets. The thing he felt something that haven't felt for a long time: curiosity. Years of sobriety, working on gaining control switched off any decent emotions in him. Now he felt curious about his brother's ex's behavior. Curious and a little intrigued. Something that Mickey never failed giving him. Not when he turned out to be gay, not when he came out or had a child, not when he turned world upside down for Ian over and over again, not even when he punched him in a face first time when Lip offered him his help when they were what eleven?  
Now, after years he appears in Lip's life without his swag that he was sure was Mick's trademark, but with with so much trust in his eyes, that Lip couldn't help it. Couldn't help anything. He is planning to keep a distance anyway. It shouldn't be hard. They have never been friends before even when he dated Ian. 

He didn't tell Ian neither about hiring nor about seeing him whatsoever. He have to tell him eventually, but there is a small part of him that for unknown reason didn't want it. He will cross the bridge when he gets there.


	7. Chapter 7

**September 9th**

The weather is wonderful outside of the office, which is unfair because Brenda Webber was inside and had to be inside for four more hours. She wishes she could arrange therapies somewhere outside on fresh air, with a hot coffee. But she is not Robyn William and his patients are far from Will Hunting, but mostly paranoid people who are cheating on their spouses with their assistants and shit bricks of the idea that their spouses may find out. Although not this particular one.  
  
Mickey Milkovich. 27 years old. Currently is an art student. Former thug and prisoner.Half-open gay ("I just don't want to scream about it everywhere I go"). Intelligent but not in common sense. Refuses his needs for appreciation, attention, or even acceptance. Uses aggression as a defense mechanism. Had an abusive father. Absence of another parent (or any mother figure) for most of his early life and puberty period. A sexual and list of emotional traumas. Has a problem expressing and interpreting his emotions. And a long list of toxic believes. 

That's just a first page, but it's already a lot more for the average person. He was redirected from his previous doctor Malcolm Bailey, which if Brenda being honest is like Harry Potter in the therapist world. He was young but already was considered to be the future mental health world. He is motherfucking Meryl Strip in Psychology. Brenda spends years before she finally got published. But that guy gets published that often that they probably would approve his shopping list without blinking an eye. The guy visited all places around the world, visited various cultures and personally tested all kinds of practices that supposedly affect mental apparatus. Mickey mentioned that he applied some weird stuff when they had sessions. 

They have met in LA where she went for some conference and he approached himself lively asking Brenda about her last article on the Impact of Social Inequality on Approach and Avoidance Motivation. He was in the top team, Brenda slowly but steady was making her way up, but was nowhere near to that guy.   
So he was a rock star in the therapy world, which is why she was surprised when he redirected his patient/ friend in law to her. 

The thing about Mickey Milkovich was that he was both the most favorite and unbearable patients in her practice. He is full of contradictions. If at first she was surprised why in the world has Dr. Bailey of all people in Chicago asked her to be his shrink, but after five minutes with Mickey and all just fell into the right places. Brenda was a South Side and most if not all her researches were inspired, involved or at least some way or another related to the impact of the ghetto environment on mental functionality of an individual or a group. But mostly she suspected that it was because she manages to see through this moody, rude, sarcastic, ignorant facade that Mickey rigorously builds again and again without any judgment and preconceived notion. The man was willing to change, and from the poor explanation, he gave her his past relationships played a big role in his motivation. They didn't cover this topic since it made Mickey shut down completely, and the rest of the session would turn into her listening to him ignoring her questions, complaining and simply acting like a bitch. Mickey is an asshole in his best days, but his ex was just no-go zone, even though they are making small but notable signs of progress in his social behavior.   
  
As a therapist, Brenda is supposed to direct patients rather than tell them how to live their lives. But Mickey with his "eat or be eaten" mindset and strong survival instincts found a hard time processing basic human needs for comfort, support, and understanding. Especially the first year of the college was something indescribable. She had never felt English was so inconsistent as a language like she felt it explaining why he can't treat people the way he does. Usually, it would end up her sighing out all oxygen from her lungs and asking her assistant to cancel on other patients for the rest of the day.   
  
Mickey was her personal nightmare, but God is a witness it never been boring. Like there was his project partner, Emily, and according to how Mickey described her she was a very quiet, shy and insecure person. In ten minutes of their conversation, he made her run off the auditorium crying. They have been discussing what he did wrong for a solid two hours. The next session he announced with the smug on his face that apologized by tossing a bag of weed into her bag and had nerves to be surprised that the girl avoided him the whole time. So, there was it, with every step forward they had two steps back. Mickey Milkovich was her personal Everest that she was gonna make her bitch. Eventually, he apologized in front of Emily, in his own Milkovich manner, by saving her from a bunch of hooligans. After that Brenda decided that maybe she shouldn't try to build a new person from him when he was already petty perfect in his own twisted way. After that, it all went a lot smoother.   
  
But now he was sitting in front of her looking anywhere but at her pretending to be a piece of room decoration. He asked for an appointment, and she squeezed him into her tight schedule. He came 7 minutes earlier, which equivalent for an hour in normal people's world. Something was obviously bothering him. No matter what progress they made it was still hard for him to talk about feelings. So it was a little game of theirs, where she had to guess what the fuck was going on in his head because little motherfucker couldn't' just save their time and energy running for his life.   
  
"So, how is school? It has started a week ago, hasn't it?" She started gazing at him. 

"It's fine" he nodded confirming his answer.

No, not school.

"How is Emily?" She tried again. "Did you see her?"

"As much as could behind her fringe. I think I'll pass through her without recognizing if she ever cuts that shit off," he said with a grin. 

No, not Emily. 

"What about Marcus?" He frowned "Do you still hook up?" 

"No, not for a month or so," he looked a bit confused as if it didn't come to his mind.

"Why? Did you have a fight?"

"No, I still provide him some meth and ecstasy" Brenda rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"What did we decide about you telling me about your doubtful services?"

"What's the point? You are a South Side, you know how that shit works. Or not like you gonna snitch, ethical code is no shit,"

"If you don't want me to snitch then make sure there is nothing to snitch about," she exclaimed and by his smug, she knew that he, this sonuvabitch, is intentionally playing on her nerves. Okay, two people can play this game. 

"How is your work?" She continued. His face fell immediately. Ah-huh, mommy smells a rat. 

"It's good," he looked at his hand, then rubbed his chin.

Gotcha.   
  
"How long you've been working there? Two months was it?"

"Two and a half," 

"How are the people working there?"

"Friendly," short answer, how childish.

"Any particular friendly person?" he inhaled to answer then seemed like change his mind and just kept staring to the right bottom corner of the carpet. She has been waiting. And when it seemed like he is not gonna say anything he said something inaudible. 

"Say that again," 

"I think ...I might ...No, I know...I mean." Then he squeezed his hand tightly gather summoning up his courage "I want my ex's _straight_ brother who is also my _boss_ ," 

there was a pregnant pause,

Brenda sighed deeply, reached for the telephone

"Jim, darling, could you cancel the next patient, please," 

Then hung up and glared at Mickey trying to figure out where to start. She needed to come up with some constructive and strategic approaches to let him feel that he is in a safe space with an open environment. 

"WhAt thE fUck, MIckEy!" Or she could just say that...

" I know, I know. It sounds fucked up. And I swear I am not a predator." she softened a bit looking at him like at a silly boy.

"Of course, you are not, Mickey. You are anything but a predator." He exhaled what with relief finally meeting her gaze. She looked down collecting her thoughts together, "You know there might be a message that your subconscious is trying to tell you," 

"That I have start looking for guys whose last name is not Gallagher?" 

"Or maybe you are projecting your feelings for your ex to his brother,"

"The fuck that suppose to mean?" 

"Maybe you miss your ex?" She tried again waiting for an outburst 

"Why would I miss that son of a..." He looked genuinely confused and then "Fuck you, would ya!"

"Mickey would you chill." 

"How many times I have to say that I'm over him. You think I want to get back to him creeping shit out of his brother or what ?" she was losing him. 

"Okay, okay, it's just an assumption, fine," he made an exhale and continued, 

" I just want you to consider the possibility that I can be attracted to other people without looking back to my ex," and it sounded convincing but she didn't want to drop it just yet.

"What if you want him because he reminds you of ...." 

"What? My ex? They are polar fucking opposites. I'll give a grand if you find something in common outside of being related. The only thing he reminds me of is a fucking lemur with his big eyes and dopey face." He said it the last one quietly like he was scared to be heard. Brenda saw that he how scared he looked. Knowing him it must be his first experience in liking a straight guy. It is a wittingly failed crush and was breaking her heart to be the one has to say that aloud. But someone had to. 

"Mickey, you do know that this road that brings you nowhere, do you?"

"I know," no expression 

"Don't blame yourself. There are lots of guys who can't wait for you to screw them up," corner of his lips slightly lifted up but the rest of the face remained expressionless. After a long silence, he added with the same tone

"So that means hooking up with him was a bad idea?"  
  
....  
  
She gaped at him. 

....

Then sighed deeply and silently reached for the telephone with what she hoped was a steady voice: 

"Jim, sweaty, be so kind and cancel all my appointments for today... No, nothing happened. And you can go early... Yeah, to you too." 

Then she turned to her patient 

**"WHAT THE FUCK, MICKEY!"**


	8. Chapter 8

Smile. Be polite. Smile. Be inconspicuous. Smile. Make sure they have everything they need. Smile. Don't curse. I said smile. Ask if they need anything every ten minutes unless. And fucking smile already, stop channeling a shark. Why in this fucking world did he think that waitering is easy money? Just bring the fuckers their food and wish them not to get choked, come back for cash and voila. But NO-O, it's always something wrong with the food, or water isn't the right temperature, or there are countable amount of fries on their plate (WTF?). It's too hot in here; now air-conditioner is blowing right to them, it can't be healthy. Playing on ex thug's nerves can't be healthy he wanted to say, but all he was allowed to do is apologize (the fuck for?!) and smile.

It's been only a week but Mickey felt like he runs out all patients he gathered through the years. God, knows he was so close to start spitting in their drinks and sneezing on their food. He was helping with lunch shifts since he lived close, and fully covering dinner and night shifts. To be honest there weren't many people for that big restaurant. That may explain why Lip walked around like a zombie not lifting his head up from the tablet that seemed like an extension of his hand, never leaving it. Sometimes he would catch Lip's observing gaze on him, but it would disappear as quickly as it appeared. The only interaction between them occurred on his second day when the third customer asked for another waiter cautiously gazing on his knuckles. Sue looked at him apologetically as they were standing in the kitchen entrance.

Mickey wanted to say to her that she doesn't have to look pitiful. But then he would have to explain that he faces it on a daily basis, and that was even sadder. Mickey felt a little pathetic.

"Mickey, they don't understand," Seeing him frowning, "Hey, lighten up, screw them right?"

"Fucking bunch of snobs," he swore under his breath letting her pat his shoulder.

"That's a spirit!" That was the right moment Lip decided to enter the kitchen, and lifting up his head he and quickly analyzing their expressions.

"What's wrong?" Sue tried to read Mickey's face, selecting the right words to explain the situation.

"Bunch of fucking snobs," commented Lip making Sue lift her eyebrows in surprise and looking to Mickey again. He just shrugged, "you ok, man?" he approached closer to mickey observing his knuckles. They could have covered it but he, Mickey, was working with food and a little spot of the foundation is a step away from the possibility of costumer making a scene in order to get drinks or starters on a house. Sue told tons of those stories.

"'M fine, not a pussy. Can take word or two," he mumbled. Tips of his ears were slowly turning red by all the attention he was receiving.

"Of course you are not," Lip gave half of the smile, trying to catch his gaze, "Look at me." He said finally.

Mickey's heart speeded up as he looked to Lip who was carefully studying him with a concentrated look on his face. Without any comment he took black thick frame glasses out of the pocket of his shirt and carefully put them on Mickey with the same expression, "they are for the computer. Won't hurt your eyes." He took a step back.

"Now former thug turns into a hipster," Mickey made "huh?" face, "repeat after me: New Caledonian Owl Goat are on the verge of extinction"

"New Colonian who?" was totally confused. Lip in return gave him a totally shit-eating grin, "Fuck you," Mickey breathed out with the smile he couldn't help.

"Look at you," Sue appeared in front of him, "the only thing you can steal now is my grandma's fashion style."

"Okay, enough," Mickey extended his pal forward, but his grin was totally betraying him.

"Or what? Gonna serve me something vegan?" her horrified face was almost hilarious.

"I'm not a fucking hipster!"

"The first rule of being hipster," started Lip behind her, "You never admit you are a hipster," they finished together.

"Are you two quite done?" and before they could add anything, "because I'm fucking leaving before you made a triumphant debut in stand-up fucking comedy. I'll give you your glasses ofter work." Lip was getting lost for the world inside his tablet.

"Just keep them." he waved dismissively and Mickey could swear he heard something like "they look better on you, anyway." through his mumble.

So, the trick with glasses has worked and that's how Mickey's double life has started. He had minimum interaction with Lip during the week, but he always seemed in the restaurant. Mickey wasn't sure what time he was leaving or was he leaving at all, cause sometimes he would walk around with the same clothes. But he found out eventually one day.

He was leaving the workplace and almost reached his home. He didn't find his phone in his pocket when he reached for it to check the time. The next day was supposed to be his day off so he didn't want to get back for it on his fully deserved holiday. He really hoped that someone would be inside when he knocked on the backdoor of the restaurant. Lip opened it with a surprised expression on his face when he saw Mickey.

"I forgot my phone." without any comment Lip gestured inside. He looked exhausted, his curls were messier than usual, his shirt was opened on two buttons and his sleeve was rolled up, and the shirt itself was totally wrinkled. Mickey silently headed to the room for stuff.

The phone was in his closet under the uniform, and when he was about to leave, he found himself in a dilemma. Like, should he say goodbye, or at least let him know that he is leaving or should he just leave? Before he could decide anything the sound of glass breaking came from the kitchen. He found Lip swearing in the middle of the kitchen trying to collect pieces with bare hands of something that seemed like used to be a beer bottle. Mickey picked out a broom from the closed before getting to the spot.

"No, dude. Don't bother. Your shift is over. I'll clean it." He tried to take a broom away from him, but Mickey reacted faster.

"Of course you will. Go grab a mop, and clean these sticky shit like you mean it." with sigh Lip obeyed. It was a beer bottle and Mickey wasn't sure if it's his business, but Lip's love/hate relationship with alcohol wasn't exactly a mystery of the 21st century. His father, Frank, was always first smelled before seen. Of all siblings it had to be hard for Lip, the one who always has his shit, comparatively under control, to deal with it. Mickey still recognizes the echoes of his father's voice in his mind, in his own words, and the worst one is in his actions.

He carefully lifted the label of the beer and noticed an "alcohol-free" sign right under the brand name. He sighed and didn't notice Lip's appearance next to him.

"I assume you already heard about it?" he didn't look mad or even interested.

"Yeah, Iggy might have mentioned." And because he wasn't sure what to say he added, "that sucks man." Lip nodded in agreement but seemed more preoccupied with cleaning. Mickey has noticed that Lip looked/acted/talked a lot less live-less then before. He thought it was because of all shit he had to deal with, which is a lot. But now he thought maybe it was his constant battle with his demons was sucking all strength of him.

"This shit is helping?" he asked as throwing it to the trash.

"Not even close," he kept mopping, "but it's all about ritual. Gives an illusion that I don't miss any part of my life."

"And no better alternative?"

"Sure. We can go on a light jogging in a park, and then wearing leggings we can do some yoga and somewhere in shitanasana pose I may reach Nirvana." He sounded irritated.

"Who are we? Faggots?" Lip chuckled against his will. Mickey reached for his backpack and took out a bag of weed, "Or we could just get high."

They end up sitting in the Lip's office. Mickey rolled a joint while Lip was removing the smoke detector.

"Ma-an, this shit is good," he took the first drag, "Iggy doesn't sell anymore?"

"Nah, I take all shit to the North. Have some guy who takes it for a double price. But wants the only top product, if you know what I mean." Marcus likes to get stocked for the parties for his extravagant friends. God, he hated artists.

He must have said the last one aloud. Lip raised his eyebrows.  
"Then how come you are one of them?"

"It was a part of therapy. I used to draw before. But mostly to kill time. Not like a had a privilege to have that faggot-y hobby growing with the nazi bigot as a father," Mickey gulped hoping that Lip won't recall the school time shit.

"I remember you were good at drawing," he said quietly mostly to himself, and then louder looking at Mickey, "and you got a lot better."

"The fuck can you possibly know that?" Lip silently fished a napkin from his pocket

"Found it on a bar counter. Something tells me it's yours," there were mostly doodles and caricatures of Sue, Scott (another waiter) most annoying clients and Lip with head unnaturally (90 degrees) bent down head over his tablet. Mickey wondered why Lip didn't throw it away. Mickey didn't feel like commenting that. Art is something personal for Mickey. The area where words have no power as far as feelings are genuine.

"I'm surprised," Lip dragged again, "I thought you will ask about Ian on the first day of your work, you know".

"I don't see you bombarding me with questions about Mandy," Mickey felt annoyed.

"Don't pretend that it's the same," how could he forget that Lip also was a straightforward stubborn son of a bitch, "you were like gay Tristan and Isolde," he provided giggling.

"I better be Tristan in your twisted fantasy,"

"I don't know. I bet you'd make smoke hot Isolde." And how Mickey suppose to react to that? Is it typical for straight dudes to say that sort of shit? Lip must be really stoned.

"Fuck you," he chuckled, cause what else he suppose to say. "I know that he is fine," he said after a while, "Iggy, Svetlana, Kev have told about EMT, and his boyfriends and other shit. I didn't want to know. But everybody thinks that it's their direct duty to tell me about him."

"Probably because he wouldn't be there where he is now if it wasn't for you," Lip said quietly looking right into his eyes, studying expression, like if he was daring to say otherwise.

"Whatever man,"

When Mickey left, Lip was sitting in front of his desk getting back to work. He walked down the street and felt the ease and joy that he doesn't remember feeling for a long time. Fun, that the word. He had fun.


	9. Chapter 9

**August 5th**

With all the work adaptation shit, the therapy shit and getting high with Lip shit he might have forgotten to inform his lovely dear sister that he is working under her ex-boyfriend. Not that she minds anyway, but still he was delaying that shit as long as he could. There was no way he could continue it.

"What's up shithead?" They were talking via Skype every or every other week or so.

"Hey, assface. Where is your pet?" that's when from afar came Malcolms "I'm here!". Will someone teach this grown-ass man about self-respect?

"He is busy by..." She made vague gestures uncertain how to describe shit her husband was doing this time.

"...being Malcolm, I don't want to know," he inhaled, "I actually have news. I got a job."

"Someone hired you? Is it some financial pyramid? Mickey that shit never works."

"I fucking know that. How stupid you think I am?"

"Well..."

"Shut up," she laughed at his face

"God, I missed you," he felt warmth spreading in his chest, "So, you got a job"

"I'm a waiter," it was weird at the beginning, but after voluntarily living together it was weird not to share every single thing happening in his life, or not being able to know what happens with her... with their life. They were perfectly maintaining this thoroughly build the initially unnatural relationship, that was one of Mickey's biggest goals. "Did you know that people are assholes? If not, here is the surprise they are fucking assholes."

"Waiter?" She laughed hysterically, like if it was the funniest thing she has heard, "do you actually serve actual food to actual people? Wait do you wear a uniform? Does it have a cute little bow?"

"Are you done?" He asked dryly,"It's a good job. Very close to my place, I don't have to cook every day, and I have flexible hours."

"Yeah, but still. Mickey Milkovich is mastering the waitressing craft. No offense, but with your criminal record and overly friendly attitude, who is an idiot that hired you?"

"Funny that you asked," he reached back of his head, "Do you remember my ex," she always gets soft when they talk about Ian," it's his brother. You may remember him. Eh, Philip, average height, curly hair, looks like he is sleepwalking,"

"Don't pretend that you don't know that he was MY ex," she seemed quiet for a moment.

"Right, slipped my mind, oops."

"Would you end your one-man show. I'm not mad."

"Really? I'm not sure I'd be totally cool if you hang out with Ian." When he realized what he just said, he hurried to fix it, "I mean I am totally okay if you want to hang out with him. He was your best friend after all, and was there for you when you needed him."

"I am not hanging out with him," ("not until you feel okay about it" was left unsaid). "But me and Lip are so different story compare to you and Ian. You were like gay Romeo and Juliet."

"Or Tristan and Isolde," came out before he could stop himself

"What was that?"

"Nothing, just thinking out loud,"

"Okay?" she suspiciously squeezed her eyes, but then suddenly remembered something, "how is Iggy? Is he alive? "

"Yeah, and our house didn't explode yet. The last time I've seen our basement it looked like Dr. Frankenstein's fucking laboratory."

"Do you think the FBI may overhear us talking about Iggy's drug manufacturing activities over Skype?"

"Nah, they're busy spying on people who have Skype sex," Mickey snorted

"You know rich people are so in this conspiracy shit. They are so paranoid like.." she started snapping her fingers trying to remember something," ... you know aunt Ruth? The "diagnosed" one.  
Who claimed that aliens gang banged her in a spaceship? That type of paranoid." that's their new thing: exploring the depth of how rich people are fucked up.

"Oh, yeah. She was nice. Used to let us play in her dungeon."

"I'm pretty sure we interpreted completely incorrectly the "game" part. Although she had the best lasagne in the whole west coast." She sighed. "Talked to Becky the other day. Her stomach looked bigger than the rest of her body. How many kids you think are in there?"

"At least three, for sure. I think Iggy can safely establish his own gang when kids are older."

"He doesn't seem nervous, though."

"I don't think he gets in what a deep shit he is in," she looked up at something beyond mickey's vision. And with "I gotta go," disconnected.

Later he received a message from her saying "Sent my love to Lip, and tell him that I was faking it the whole time we were together." Mickey dropped his phone to the ground with a shudder.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

What the fuck is wrong with this world. Feels like the entire world ganged up against him. His work is collapsing each day, Carl might have knocked up his girlfriend, Debbie is in some deep fucked up love drama, Fiona disappeared to, God knows where, and over all of this shit as a cherry on top, Lip was feeling guilty cause he hasn't told Ian about Mickey. In his defense, he didn't think that Mickey would last that long. He was sure that at some point Milkovich gene would take up and he would just storm out of the restaurant flipping everyone off on his way out. But again Mickey decided not to give up on his principles and make an idiot out of Lip...agian. He has to tell Ian. He is his bother and he deserves to know.

A little part of him didn't want to tell at all. Past years were awful for Lip and his ego. His worst nightmares were coming to life and all he could do just sit there and watch his world falling apart. He remembers before, when he had his shit together, always knowing what he wanted from life. He knew where he will be in 5 years, 10 years and even 20. But after all his "wants" go down the drain, he didn't bother having any desire whatsoever, and at some point his "wanting" mechanism just atrophied. But with Mickey...The world is not brighter, his problems didn't miraculously disappear, he didn't develop engrossing feelings towards Mickey. It just sitting there on the carpet, next to his coffee table, getting high, loudly laughing about irrelevant things and quietly telling things that are significant. Sitting there next to Mickey he was feeling that the world became a little bit more bearable. And he totally knows that he is being selfish, and he really would tell Ian if Mickey wanted him to tell, but the guy seemed appalled by the idea facing his brother. At least, that's what Lip was saying to himself to soothe his conscience. He will tell him, of course, he will. And they will have a sweet-gross fight, followed by sweet-gross sex, not seeing anybody and anything will drive to the sunset. He will give up on friendship with Mickey if it's necessary. All Lip wants is time.

"You okay?" he didn't notice Ian entering the kitchen.

"Yeah, just got lost in thoughts. Whattup?" He looked pointedly. Ian seemed hesitating.

"I don't know. It's just, I kind of having a feeling that Mickey is in the South Side?"

"Have a feeling? Did you upgrade your gaydar" He tried to turn it to joke to cover the nervousness he felt

"Fuck you," Ian chuckled, "Carl said that he saw Mickey going into Milkovich house the last week. I didn't believe him and asked Iggy, he said no, but his wife, you know, pretty Asian, Becky, I think, looked confused at Iggy. Then I remembered that a year ago I saw Svetlana with Yev, while we were talking Yev asked something about his father. She didn't say a word, and left before I could do anything. Then I thought that Svetlana is being...pretty much Svetlana. And there was a time, Kev accidentally said about something that Mickey said the other day. But when I asked what he meant, he said it was some other dude he was saying. I didn't really pay much attention. I must be crazy, but I do you think that Mickey might have come back." He looked on his brother with so much hope that he will say no, that he is paranoid. Lip wasn't that much of a bastard.

"Do you _want_ it to be true?"

"Yes, I mean, I guess. I don't know. It's been eight years and our last interaction wasn't very good." He looked under his eyelashes at Lip guessing whether or not he will ask what happened, "but it's Mickey, you know. I just, if he really came back, mean everybody conspired to hide that fact from me, which is fucking unfair. I am not a kid anymore. I taking my meds and have my shit together." Lip cleared his throat.

"I don't know what to say, man. But hypothetically," he lifted a thumb, "if he really did come back, don't you think it's not you that they are trying to protect?"

"What do you mean?" Ian bent closer

"Have you considered the possibility that maybe, it's Mickey the one that is avoiding you? He didn't come to find you in the first place, right?"

"I didn't think about that," he looked somewhere behind Lip's head, "He was sentenced for 8 years, and I was too young and fucked up and just wanted to go over him as soon as I could. I can't expect him to want to make a social visit to me." He sighed, "I'd ask Mandy, but apparently she changed her phone number,"

"You don't know if it's true. For all you know he might still be in a prison" he hated how easily lie slipped out of his mouth.

"Yeah, you are right." He gave him an unconvinced weak smile, "It's not like it would be a good idea anyway. I am dating David now, and it would make everything so much more complicated."

Lip can't keep going like that. It's not about him anymore. It was easy to play for time while Ian didn't know, but now it just a matter of time. Lip has no idea how Mickey lasted so long without facing any of Gallaghers. He has to talk Mickey into coming clear with Ian. Mickey is gonna be mad.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whole this lying to Ian for "air castle" friendship with Mickey felt unnatural and out of character. So the chapter is an attempt to explain how the bond between Mickey&Lip was forming.

**July 5th**

Lip's office was full of smoke and they were sitting on the carpet leaning on the sofa. It was their second "appointment". There was a cartoon playing on the TV hung on the wall, but neither really paid any attention. 

"Can you imagine? Iggy can't write his own name without misspelling it, but the son of a bitch turns into some fucking Merlin when it comes to the chemistry. He came up with the Vitamin C+ shit."

"Vitamin C+? Wasn't that shit on news reports or something?"

"Yeah, apparently, now Milkoviches dictate illegal drug trends." 

"Why 'Vitamin C+' though?" 

"For some unknown reason," he coughs out some smoke and continues, "people with citrus intolerance couldn't do it." 

"Fuck, I'm high. Have to ask it." Mickey glances at him expectantly. "Not trying to offend anyone. I know Iggy and Becca are together. And she is like solid nine. And her family have like really deep pockets."

"Assholes are South Side Kardashians," Mickey puts his two pennies. 

"How did he get her? I mean, he is not the most attractive dude in our area-," but Mickey cuts him.

"Motherfucker is ugly as fuck. The dude is slightly more handsome than a monkey." Lip cracks up," but he has a heart of gold" Mickey gives him the best innocent look he manages to express.

"Fuck you," Lip keeps laughing

"And also he knocked her up," Lip is looked more convinced," the story is old as the world. Girl meets boy. Girl wants to piss off her tiger mother. Girl sleeps with the boy. Girl expects a baby. God, I hope if there is a hell, Terry still will be able to see his half Asian grandchildren." 

"What about your son?" it slips out from his mouth before he can think it over. Is he even allowed to ask it? Are they in that close? Where the hell is the borderline? Mickey's seemed didn't notice Lip's inner conflict.

"Not my son." He sighs deeply. It seemed that the fact actually upset him."I don't care. If Terry taught me something, it's that family ties don't have to be connected by blood, you know. And he is a family." says Mickey looking at him not sure if he elaborated it clear enough with his intoxicated brain and braided tongue. But lip did understand. It reminds him of Xan. She wasn't his. But, Good Lord, he wanted to be her parent. He loved her so much, which is why he had to let her go. So, yeah, there is not doubt in his mind that Yevgeny is still Mickey's family. 

**July 10th**

"What the fuck did it take you so long. Were you growing all ingredients by yourself, or something?" Mickey grumbled from the sofa. Usually, Mickey is not exactly a ray of sunshine, hungry Mickey is a whiney little shit. 

"There were just raw pre-made items left." he says sitting next to Mickey, who is eyeing a box in his hand," but I found a cake. Hope you're into deserts." Lip is cunning. He knows that Mickey is a sugar junkie. Always knew. He puts it on a coffee table next to a bag of weed they were smoking and opens it. " I have a feeling that Sue is suspecting something. I mean it's not like it's a secret that you and I hanging out. But she was just glaring at me whole day and-" he cuts himself seeing the expression of Mickey's face hovering over the box. "You ok, man?". Mickey replies something indistinct in reply, "What?" 

"It's an 'I'm sorry cake'" then looks at Lip on his right side. Seeing the confusion on his face he explains, "An apology cake. Our mother used to drink her ass off, leave in some unknown direction and disappear for weeks before coming back, and she probably felt guilty for leaving a bunch of kids on their own, 'cause she was baking a 'honey cake' for the whole family. And then sitting on the table, looking at us with fond in her eyes, she would tell each of us a flattering remark, you know, like a compliment. Like price my drawings or Iggy's eyes, or the fact Colin didn't use an f-word the whole day, or some other shit. Weird as fuck, but cake+compliment was her way of apologizing." Mickey doesn't say that this is one of few favorite memories from childhood but also knows that he doesn't have to. Lip gets it. 

"Huh," Lip considers for a second, "For us, it was a family dinner. Monica would make a whole dinner with lots of food, would make us wear clean, pretty clothes, pretending to be fucking Brady bunch, and tell 'how our life will be different from now on'. Family dinner+unfulfilling promises is the apology in Gallagher household." and that's how in a matter of seconds they turn into little boys again, which is not entirely sad because for the night their sorrow was an in-between. 

**July 17th**

"These rich people are bat-shit-crazy, I'm saying ya," Mickey exclaimed in his own manner. With each time they were sitting closer to each other, in parallel to how close their connection was forming. 

Lip has never started their chit chats. He isn't sure when was the last time he talked about shit in order to talk about shit. With Mickey, the process was effortless and natural. He didn't have to monitor his speech, making sure he didn't say anything irrelevant because half of the time he was too deep in his thoughts for people to reach him. He didn't have to sound smart or professional. He didn't have to debate, discuss, negotiate, analyze, consult, educate, specify. And it felt amazing. Who knew that of all people, Mickey Milkovich will be behind his recreation. 

"Today there was a woman was sharing her fork with her rat-sized dog. It's disgusting, man," he says as a matter of fact. 

"Tell me about it. I have to deal with most of the issues caused by their quirks. I can write and defend a whole dissertation on ass-kissing and brown-nosing." Mickey giggles next to him. "People has to be banned from breaking up in public places. They hope that their partners won't make a scene, but they always, make a scene, every fucking time." 

"In my college, they are crazier than a shit-house rat," mickey says leaning back on the sofa, making Lip make half-turn to see him, " Once, we had a stupid assignment. The professor, a snobby hippy, said we had to, and I quote "make him feel *it*. Like, what the fuck is that! I wanted to give him punch-throat, to see if that would make him 'feel it'" Lip chuckles gazing him, "I kicked that can down the road and the day before the class had a jack shit. Decided not to give much shit and try to come with something to push the luck. Found my shit from old house Iggy dropped off the other day, mostly garbage, but there were these x-ray pics piled-up during the years. So on a black hardboard recreated them in the ultraviolet with sticker pointing the injuries." Lip gulps thickness in his throat, he understood where Mickey was heading, "Thought, I was in deep shit, but the nutty professor was all over me, saying something about 'indelible scars of social oppression'. Asked how many people's x-ray photos I used," Mickey laughed dryly, "Should have seen his face when I said that they are all mine. Three of the students threw their works to the garbage in some motherfucking solidarity, no one asked for. Apparently, it was more than a person supposes to take." Mickey concludes looking away from Lip. He straightens up and considers it before saying, "Staying there, under everyone's' gaze, like some fucking masterpiece they just discovered, those that people like to observe, but not to touch, I felt- For, God knows why reason, I felt-" 

"Embarrassed," finishes Lip. Mickey glares at him with half surprise half anger feeling. Of course, Lip understands. The fucking smart-ass. Mickey sighs hoping to rid of the irritation. 

"Yeah," then he stares at him, "Maybe you also know why?" He dares him. Lip frowns at his mood change but says it anyway.

"Because, they saw your injuries and they saw the monster behind it, but they didn't see the injuries that you gave," 

Mickey sharply inhales and looks at him with clear fear in his eyes.

"You should know better, you carry half of them," he finally says. He stands up rapidly like some invisible force is pulling him. 

"Mickey wait," Lip grabs his hand,"I didn't... I don't blame you. Never did."

"Maybe that's the problem," Mickey says hiding his face, feeling perplexity. 

"Listen it's not your fault. We all were fucked up little kids. We are still fucked, little kids." Mickey's breath speeds up, "Come on man, look at me," Mickey couldn't ignore his request if he tried to. He looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. "You feel guilty and don't know how to express it, and it's ok," he says carefully, making sure that each word was delivered properly. Mickey feels frustrated by what he said. Occasionally Mickey caught himself having a sensation like Lip gets Mickey more than Mickey gets himself, but he usually blames it on the effect of weed.

"You never fought back," Mickey tone sounds partly accusing and partly like it's making a poorly effort to justify himself. 

"Because I never wanted to fight with you," he almost whispers it out, and that what makes mickey feel something that distantly feels like heartbreak. He goes out in a rush lifting his backpack on his way out. 

**July 18th**

Lip blames himself. He knows that he did nothing wrong, but he also knows that it was avoidable if he didn't push on him. He went home to get a shower and change his clothes. Today is Mickey's day off and he doesn't know should he call him or wait till he cools down, or is he even going to cool down. The whole situation was such a shit show, Lip is barely keeping up. When he enters Sues informs that vendors want their cash, alcohol price is raising up to the price of gold. 

"And Mickey was here today, just left." Lip looks up at her immediately, " dropped off this," she hands him a plain white small box. 

He opens a box, and what he sees makes a grin finds a place on his face. Sue looks over his shoulder confused, not being able to connect the content of the box and Lip's reaction to it. 

"Honey cake?" 

"Apology cake," Lip mumbles walking away from her towards his office staring at the cake. Cake+compliment as the way of apologizing, he remembers. It has to be there, has to be. Ah-huh. He finds a sticker on the side. He feels something like an excitement rush when he reads

**_****"You are very tolerable for a Gallagher," ****_ **


	11. Chapter 11

**July 5th**

Lip was sitting and just thinking how he end up in this fucking situation. Why in the god damn world he (consciously!) positioned himself in the middle of Ian&Mickey love/hate drama. The irony was that at the end both of them probably gonna stop talking to Lip. Ian - because he'll be mad for not telling about Mickey working in his restaurant. Mickey - because Lip is going to force him to talk to Ian. 

Of course, there was a chance that they will act like adults and understand that what he did was for their own good. But, let's be honest, separately they act like a couple of Neanderthals but together they fail to function at all. He was doomed. He was double doomed.

Whole day Lip was on pins and needles. Mickey didn't ask directly not to tell Ian, but from how out-and-out he was about not wanting to meet, to talk or know about Ian, the message was pretty much implied. The goal was to convince Mickey that they can handle their past disagreement and move along. He wanted Mickey to understand why Lip was doing what he was going to do. He wanted to make sure that Lip is not taking sides, but the emotional and mental health of his little brother is always a priority. Ian was doing a terrific job balancing his life with his disorder and the last thing he wanted is him to be the reason of his distress. 

He also had to make sure that Ian knows that he is not in a position to push on Mickey anyhow. Somehow it was important not to let Mickey feel pressured. Someone tells him he will rack his brain over the situation in order to come up with the solution to protect feelings of no other but Mickey Milkovich, he would pay him, cause that is hilarious as fuck. But now, not like he has many options. 

He goes out to the main hall to spot Mickey. He gives his best smile to a married couple, then turns around, and his couple changes to the scowl, muttering something under his nose. Lip finds the whole scene adorable. He sighs and thinks, that it doesn't matter. He will do everything to win their friendship back after he and Ian talk. 

After everyone left, Mickey comes into his office. They were supposed to hang out today. Mickey with his usual nonchalance pops onto the sofa and says something about the client that never tips well. 

  
"We need to talk," he cuts him before he out of courage. Mickey looks at him squeezing his eyes, probably unsure how to react,

"Okay," he stretches the word

  
"It's about Ian," and Mickey immediately changes in the face, and Lip can physically sense him distancing away from him, " I think you need to talk to him. You had a history. He deserves to know." He says as much as he can before Mickey shuts down completely. 

  
"No, he doesn't. You know why?" rhetorical question, "Because if he did, he would know by now. Man, I was out for five years, and he started suspecting, like what? last week?" Lip knew it's not gonna be easy, "You don't have to be genius to just call to the prison and ask. But you know why he didn't do that?" Mickey stands up and stays in front of him with the desk separating them, "Because there are still chances that I am there, which means he will have to talk to me not to feel total asshole, weak effort if you ask me. So let's sum it up. Shall we," he points a finger to prevent any interruption, "I avoid him, I'm an ass. But he avoids me, he what? doesn't have time?" 

  
Lip looks at him, not being able to hide a pity on his face. He wants to say that Mickey is anything but a bad guy. That he is so much bigger guy here, and that is why he needed to be the one who has to bury the hatchet. But something suddenly catches his attention. 

"He didn't call you in prison?" he asks not sure if he knew that. Ian and he didn't talk about Mickey much during these years, but he kind of assumed that his brother visited him a couple of times at least at the beginning. The guy practically went to prison for him. They had a history after all.

"No. Or I might have missed them being busy existing in four walls." He huffs. Lip makes another effort to justify Ian.

"You've been together through so much. Don't tell me one break up ruins it all for you?" Mickey's face softens and Lip thinks might have found a push button. "There is anything your memory worths to give it a shot?" Mickey sighs, and for a second Lip thinks that here it is, he reached him. Mickey lifts his head and Lip sees that what he took as the surrender was a disappointment. Something clenched in his chest, and he did the best to ignore it. 

"There is. Of course, there is. But, now, every time I try to think about Ian, all comes to my mind is how persistent he was in changing me, making me embrace my inner 'homo' that almost got us killed. Twice. Or how he cheated, probably more times than I wanted to know, but I get it. Most likely it was his disease, we will never know. Not a sissy, swallowed that. Swallowed him kidnapping my kid, because, honestly, that was partly my fault. Swallowed him leaving me, swallowed him breaking up with me, swallowed him being angry for attempts of trying to take care of him, swallowed him accusing me of wanting to change him, swallowed him blaming me for trying to kill his sister- Although, no! That was my blonde moment, can't blame him for that." Mickey was listing it all with feigned nonchalance, but his shaking hands and fury in his eyes were giving him away, "What else? Swallowed him not visiting me, swallowed coming after Svetlana gave him, like 50$ bucks or something. Swallowed him moving on, swallowed not giving me time to do the same. swallowed not calling, writing, or giving a shit. But how long, do you think I can do that?" 

Lip didn't know what to say. He could physically feel Mickey's pain, but what can he do? There was tangible tension in the air, and Lip was doing his best to process everything he heard. It didn't fit in with Ian's picture of the whole story. His version missed many important details.

"I didn't know that." Is all he can say. 

"And I thought, you Olsen twins, share everything." He says living his eyebrows, in a pretense horror. Lip keeps staring at him, trying to find the right words. 

"First couple of years I didn't blame him. I thought that he did what he had to do. I thought that I am the type of person that this shit happens to. That I deserved it." hole in Lip's heart becomes bigger with each word. "But one thing is when you feel unworthy, and another when the person you love thinks the exact same thing." He looks down on his shoes while he says it. When he speaks again he lifts his eyes and says looking right into his eyes. 

"You can tell him... He is your brother, I get it." he looks at Lip, "I quit." And walks away. And Lip wishes he could stop him, but then what? What in the world he could possibly tell him? Anything he expected from this evening, but defiantly not that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna wait a couple of days before writing a new chapter, but saw Amess258 ' s comment decided to write it today. Also because I hate unresolved dramas. Sorry for any mistakes, inconsistenciesies, or unfulfillment of your expectations. Hope you'll like it.

Lip feels devastated. Past two days Mickey didn't come to work, so the chances that he changed his mind about quitting went down the drain. He wanted to talk to Ian, but couldn't catch up with him. If everything Mickey said is true, Ian screwed up and screwed real bad. 

Lip's rant 'for the name of all righteous' made everything even worse. Seemingly, it was Lip's thing now: to do things worse. The idea of getting one or two glasses of whiskey from the nearest bar seems more and more tempting. He doesn't recall wanting to booze this bad in years. 

It feels like deja vu when Ian enters the kitchen and settles himself on the exact same place he did two days ago with a mug of coffee in his hand. Lip looks at him carefully, thinking about how to start a conversation without sounding too suspicious, but, luckily, Ian takes on it. 

"I called to the prison," he says, "asked for Mickey." he looks up from his mug, "He is not there. I tried to ask when he was released, they said they don't provide the information since I'm not relative or something. But, he is out. He is somewhere out there," He gestures to the window before hovering back over his coffee. "And he doesn't want to see me, apparently." He looks genuinely upset by the fact. 

"Why do you think he is avoiding you?" Lips wishes he sounded more sympathetic, but again, sympathy is the last thing he feels right now. 

"I don't know," he waves away too easily. 

"Come on, man. There's something you are not saying," Ian gets tensed, "I'm just trying to help." And it's true, he is trying to be as unbiased as he can to understand this whole mess. It seems to encourage Ian, he clears his throat before he speaks. 

"You know that we broke up not on the best terms," Ian starts 

"Well, like most of the breakups." He doesn't want to make Ian a villain. He wants to get his perspective, wants to hear that there was a misunderstanding or shit. 

"I broke up with him because felt like he didn't want me to be me. Wanted me to take those medicines that were turning me into the machine or fuck. Wanted to fix me. Then it made so much sense. And, after that," he sighs deeply before continuing, "He got into the prison. I got back to my prescription and had something close to the balance. Fragile but still balance. And then Svetlana asked me to go to the prison to visit him, I felt better but I still was lack of some emotions. I wanted to move on, I wanted not to be where I was back then," his speech and his breath speed up, "so, I said no. But then she offered me money," 

"Oh, Ian," Lip doesn't want to sound like a disappointed parent, but that's exactly how he feels right now. 

"I was bordering with another mental break down. I felt guilty, but I had to take care of myself first." He rubs his face hard, "I needed my fucking sanity back and at that time it felt like there was either me or him. I chose me," 

"Why?" Lip was doing his best to suppress his anger. 

"Why what?" Ian looks a lot more exhausted than when he entered the kitchen.

"Why didn't you call him, when you felt better? Why didn't you try to explain to him?" 

"I didn't want to give him hope. I know I sound like an ass. I thought he moved on." Lip is trying to see the logic in his words really hard, but right now he could easily imagine punching him in a face. 

"The guy literally saved you life and was there for you. You don't just fucking cut people out of your fucking life. Especially if you care about them," 

"He went to the prison for an attempt to kill Sammi," if he tries to make a point, Lip sees none. 

"Since when do you give a shit about Sammi? He did it for you, didn't he?" 

Here it is, they're officially having a fight.

"What was I supposed to do? Wait for him for fucking 8-15 years." Ian yells out.

"No one force you to be in relationships you don't want to be. But be there for the person that was there for you when you were going through the shit," he states but it's easier to talk to the wall. 

"Fuck you, Lip. Could you for once not to look at people. Especially, when the people is your own brother." he stands up

"Oh, trust me. I'm trying" he says under his breath but knows that Ian can't hear him. 

"You weren't there. And fuck you, if you think you know it all." Ian yells pacing from side to side, "I'm not apologizing for choosing my safety. I thought you would fucking understand that," he obvious hints on Lip's compelled sobriety wasn't left unnoticed. If they are going to continue, Lip will defiantly punch him, so he does his best to keep his voice steady when he says next. 

"I don't know how Mickey was jeopardizing your safety, but I don't think you should meet," he underlines but what he wants to say is 'Mickey is right avoiding you' "It's probably good for both of you,"

Ian looks hurt. Deeply hurt, but Lip doesn't care. Gallaghers are not role models, they are complete South Side white trash in and out. But they have to take care of people they care about, have each other's back. It's called to be family. If Ian doesn't get it, this conversation is going into nowhere. 

"He could have called," Ian says weakly, seeking comfort. But Lip doesn't feel sorry when he says:

"Maybe he doesn't want to give hope or thinks you moved on?" And it's a low blow to use his own words against him, but Lip is too fired up to care. 

"Oh, why don't you go fuck yourself, Lip. Since when do you even care? These past years you were too busy feeling sorry for your pity ass to see anything further of your own nose. So after years of mental self-distancing from your family, you are coming back to be an asshole? Fuck you!" And storms out of the kitchen. 

Fuck...

________________________________________________________________

_Fucking Gallaghers_

Mickey hates them. He hates them! He knew that working under Lip was a bad idea, he knew that connecting with Lip was a horrible idea. And nerves this guy has. Tell him how to live his life. Fuck you, Lip Gallagher. Fuck you, and your stupid curls, and stupid big doe eyes, and your stupid nose that you have to stick into things no one asked him to. 

_Fucking Gallaghers_

The worst part is that he liked working in the restaurant. Yeah, most of costumers were whiney little pussies and annoying as shit, but he was diving into this life routine and was enjoying it. He was getting something like a balance and stability after all. He started to get Scott's weird-ass sense of humor, at least he thinks he does unless they find his jokes funny for different reasons. He was less fighting with the Alexei (chief), which is not every ten minutes, which if you ask him a massive progress. He will miss Sue making fun of him. He didn't have a chance to say good-bye to the motherfuckers. 

_Fucking Gallaghers_

Who's he kidding. He is gonna miss Lip the most, even if he has an awful taste in brothers. He doesn't know anybody besides his therapist who could handle his tantrums with so much ease and grace. Smoking weed is never gonna be the same now. Why of all people he had to be Ian's brother? Mickey didn't have such a close friend who wasn't his sibling or therapist. He understands Mickey. At least he thought that Lip understands him until the fucker had to ruin it all.

_Fucking Gallaghers!_

His inner monologue was interrupted by the doorbell, which is weird, since no one really visits him, especially this late. Mickey checks his phone, it's midnight. If he was in South Side he would have his gun prepared, loaded, with his finger on a trigger and clear willingness to shoot, but he is not in South Side anymore, so he just picks up his iron bat before opening the door. The hall is empty. He pulls his head out, looks righ'n'left. Not a soul. He was about to close the door thinking that someone rang a wrong door when a small box lonely resting on the ground catches his eyes. He picks it up, with a small suspicion growing in his mind, he opens it. The sweet aroma of honey hits his nose. Seriously, Lip? 'Such a wuss' he thinks, but corners of his lips involuntarily go up. He fishes out a card inside and feels his heartbeat resonating in his head when he reads it.

***** _Your smile makes days brighter***_**

What a sappy little bitch!

"What a sappy little bitch" he huffs out

" _You're_ a sissy little bitch," he hears out, before seeing no other than Lip Gallagher in his glory approaching and then standing in front of him with a look of a beaten dog. He didn't see him, like, a couple of days. But somehow it felt a lot more than two days. Lip looked exhausted, and it's not like his usual appearance was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed impersonation. 

"I didn't tell him," he says studying the tips of his shoes, shoving his hands into the pocket, "I won't tell him. You were right. I'm sorry," then lifting his head up, looking at mickey with his big doe eyes "Please, come back." 

If Gallagher thinks that he is some little suck-up pushover he should fuck off. Someone needs to man up. But when he looks right into Mickey's eyes expectantly with uncovered hope on and kewpie doll face, Mickey's heart melts. And can you blame him though, he is just a human, after all. 

"Well lucky for you, I still need a job," doesn't mean he can't be a bitch about it. Lip lets out a sigh of relief and offers a weak tentative smile. Mickey smiles back. They stay there in the middle of the hall in the middle of the night grinning at each other like a couple of lunatics and when it gets too awkward Lip is the one who says.

"I probably have to get back to the restaurant. It's too late already." Mickey knows that Lip sleeps in his office until L opens up and then goes back home to change and to get a shower. 

"Or you could crash in my place. The thing you sleep on in your office doesn't deserve to be called a couch." and before Lip could say anything goes into the apartment leaving the door opened, "I have some weed left if you want, and if you liked to get you ass kicked on Xbox, we can play game or two, before you fall into your beauty sleep." 

"Oh, we will see who gets his ass kicked," Lip enters cackling and closing the door behind. 

**_Fucking Gallaghers_ **


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 12,13,14,15 are in the middle of heavy editing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are reading the fic, I won't be able to post the coming 2-3 days. Some of us still have work, plus it will give some time to think about the direction of the fic. If there is anything you want to ask or suggest, don't hesitate. Hope you will like it.

Things rapidly change between Lip and Mickey after their infamously famous drama, aka a dumpster fire. The whole story seemed to erase the last signs of boundaries and awkwardness between them. Not that they had problems with communication before, but now shadows of the past lost their ties with they were having now. At first, it was unusual, 'cause Mickey couldn't catch on all the motives behind Lip's friendliness and eagerness to help that almost borders with those annoying assistants in shops. He even thought that the guy has something shady on his mind, but it was the Milkovich part of him, speaking. The part that didn't trust anyone and didn't believe anything right and good. Eventually, when he managed to accept the fact that Lip Gallagher is something out of this world, shit went smoother. For both of them. Mickey has noticed that now Lip smiles more eagerly and laughs more effortlessly, and he would think that it's all just his filthy rich imagination, but other workers were feeling the same. Sue approached him when Lip was laughing around Scott who was sharing funny wifi name ideas for the restaurant. 

" I think he is drinking again," he didn't notice her approach, so maybe he yelped, sue him. 

"Why?" asks not sure himself if he means 'why you think so' or 'why is he drinking'.

"He acts strange for a whole month," she leans conspiratorially, "He looks too," she clicked her fingers trying to find the right word to describe it, "satisfied." She concludes. He sighs, not really interested in all the drama. He is fine, and if she has a problem with him being 'satisfied', maybe she has a problem, not Lip. And Mickey needs to feed a bunch of ungrateful brats down the hall. 

"Oh, no. He is satisfied, we gotta stop this madness before it's too late," he provides with a flat voice, looking away to print the bill. He doesn't expect a smack on the upside of his head. 

"Don't try to be funny." She says, her gaze following Lip from afar, "Look at him, grinning like a jackass eating cactus. Today he complimented my new haircut, said, short hair looks good on me," 

"What a monster!" Mickey says drily with exaggeratedly wide eyes, still refusing to give her any attention whatsoever, which earns him another smack on the upside of the head, "Ouch, woman. Cut it out." He makes a full body turn.

"I wear my hair short for months," she insists making him roll his eyes. 

"So, what? He is being a man. Big deal." 

"Let's sum up. He looks unreasonably happy, he compliments, again! , for no reason, he laughs at Scotts jokes, which is, hello-o, already a disturbing sign. The business is going down the drain, but he doesn't seem affected at all. If I didn't know better, I would have assumed that he is in love or some shit." she pauses suddenly and looked at Mickey. "You guys are close," Mickey gulps. 

"Why would you think that?" he says hoping that he doesn't sound nervous.

"Just because I don't bring it up doesn't mean I don't know about your 'private no-girl parties'. Fuck you, for not inviting, by the way."

"Why would you wanna come in the first place. Don't you have a girlfriend and a lesbian 'rom-com dream' back home?" 

"I wouldn't go to your lame-ass party, but still nice to be included," she pulls a 'duh' face, "And I want my share of weed, bitch" mickey rubs his forehead, he has some weed left at his backpack. 

"Fine, just fucking leave me alone, would ya." He gives up. 

"So, what's the deal? Is he seeing someone?" She continues not tearing her eyes from Lip.

"As far as I know, no. We don't talk that shit." 

"What shit do you talk then?" she raises her eyebrow.

"Other shit," he flushes slightly.

"Listen, Mickey. You do not underestimate relapses. I know how it starts? You think that you were handling it for years, so you can drink a little every now and then, it's a part of the rehab, you know? It's a trap to nowhere. And next thing you know, you are laying in the hospital with severe intoxication and even worse self-disgust." 

"How do you-?"

"How do you think I started working here? Both from AA." She shows her bracelet,"Almost 10 years of sobriety," she offers him a smile, "So, please, be there for him." Mickey gives her a nod. 

Mickey 87,234648 % sure that Lip doesn't drink, simply because he doesn't have time for it. He either works at the restaurant or hangs out with Mickey. Sometimes he doesn't even go home, just brings some extra changing clothes, and has his shower at Mickey's place. It seems like he is doing his best to stay away from home, and Mickey vaguely suspects that he and Ian had a fight and has a feeling that he might be the reason for the possible fight, but he is not asking. Screw those fuckheads. 

But, just in case, Mickey decides to keep an eye on Lip. Currently, he has his own problem do deal with. There is a thing that really bothers him more and more each day. He doesn't know when exactly it's started, but he keeps thinking about Lip. Of course not in a lovey-dovey soapy girl shit kinda way, thank you very much, but he pretty sure he wants to bang the guy. Real bad. Lip his buddy and Mickey is not going to do jack shit to jeopardize their friendship. Fuck that crap. 

Only blind wouldn't notice how Lip bulked up over the past years, and Mickey was fine with that, even a bit jealous. The last time he's been in a gym was in 2016 and it was the longest week of his life. Never happening again. So, seeing Lip's impressive physique, was more about admiration without sexual underline whatsoever. He is not sure when he transitioned from 'dude is ripped' to 'dude is ripped, i wonder what he tastes like' but here he is, drooling over his bro like a bitch in the heat. How is this his life? 

The son of a bitch wasn't helpful at all. He suddenly developed a habit of touching Mickey from now and then. Nothing sensual. He could walk behind Mickey, put his hands on his waist, and murmur something funny into his ear, while Mickey's body turns into the stone by the whole tension caused by hot breath on his earlobe. Or he could wrap his arm around Mickey's shoulder and place his palm on his chest, pulling him closer, while pointing on things or costumers whatever crap bothers his pretty head. Not like Mickey really pays attention, being busy, and trying to relax. And it's not just that. There are leaning closer than necessary, hand brushing, palming him here and there. If he didn't date his brother, he would think that Lip doesn't know Mickey is gay. He was undercover straight for quite a time, but till is not sure how that specie functions. Is it a normal behavior? If they met at the bar, with the same attitude, Mickey would have been done testing the bendiness of his dick, before he had finished his second beer. God, that's it. He is banned of thinking about his dick. Before he was so deep in the closet, he owned the Narnia. So, it was risky even to let yourself think about guys. But, now, his brain put off the guard decided to do a carnival towards the closest dick around.

Then the sudden realization hits him. He didn't have sex for over two months. With this whole work, 'fuck Ian' drama, he didn't really have time, nor desire to go and get laid. Not like his sex life is continuing all year long monsoon of dicks, but two months with nothing but silicone dick and his right hand, no wonder he is trying to mount nearest dude around. He is not losing his mind, he's just good old horny. He needs to call Marcus, and by tomorrow evening he will ride him down so hard, that he will have to learn how to walk again. Mickey is such a dedicated friend. Why no one sees it? 

"What are you mumbling under your nose" he didn't notice Lip staring at him, for hell knows how long."Not that I'm complaining. It's almost cute." He adds with a smirk, taking out the box with tools to the ladder shelf with him. His sleeves are rolled up and collar is wide opened. Why his hands have to be so big. Aren't they same height? Why the fuck symmetry is so discriminative?

"Don't use the word cute and me in the same sentence, you jackass," he complains. What with that anyway? Lip chuckles, pulling the cover what it looks like a big fan. 

Walk-in refrigerator doesn't work, and since this place doesn't make enough profit, there is no budget for extra hands, which makes Lip take most of the physical work on himself. That is why Lip is embodying his inner Tony Stark, trying to bring this fricking room-sized fridge to live, and by inertia seducing Mickey. 

"No promises. So what were you thinking about?" question makes Mickey flush. Hypothetically, he could have told him. They reached that level of trust (or whateverness) when they can talk about all kinds of lame-ass shit. But Mickey is not sure how will Lip react. So, let's just leave this shitty theory as it is.

"Trying to remember the last furry thing I touched," he says   
The first thing comes to his mind instead.

"Wha-at?" He looked puzzled.

"Nothing. You think you can fix this shit?" 

"Yeah, just need to replace AC contactor." He shrugs it off dismissively. Mickey knows that Lip was studying engineering before dropping out of college. The fact disturbs Mickey more than it should. 

Ten minutes later Mickey watches the muscles on his back and arm getting tensed, making them more defined, even through his shirt. His back is so broad that it covers half of the condensing unit. The veins on his hands are protruding and shouldn't be sexy, but right now Mickey regrets he doesn't have his album and pencil, just for his hands. 

"What's with the face?" taken off the guard's Mickey grabs the closest thing, which is the shelf. 

"Would you stop doing that?" He hisses to Sue who appears from nowhere.

"Doing what?" She gives him her slyest smile. "What were you doing?" 

"Nothing. Waiting till Lip finishes doing his wunsch-punsch, so I can help him carry all the products back." He hopes his voice sounds casual. 

"Yeah? And I think you were checking him out." she was openly mocking him. Mickey throws quick glance on Lip who is both too busy and too far to hear them. 

"I.DID.NOT," he hopes his tone delivers a whole-ass degree of how insulted he feels by the only idea of the accusation. 

"Oh, really? Let's see what Lip thinks. Yo, Lip." Lip pulls his head out right away," I caught Mickey checking you out. He says he didn't." Lip lift his eyebrows towards Mickey in a silent question.

Mickey gapes at him, then at her, then back at him. Maybe he can pretend to be getting choked...by air. 

"I am a motherfucking artist. I do sometimes practice observation of shapes, forms, and colors of certain objects. The human fucking body is just happened to be one of the areas of my craft." What the dipshit crap he just said? 

"Yeah?" Lip says putting down whatever tool he was holding. Taking a piece of cloth, he wipes his hands with it. "Then, probably, you should take full advantage of it," with that he throws cloth in the toolbox and takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head, and then without tearing his eyes from Mickey throws in on the toolbox above the cloth. He still has his undershirt, and there is a small smile playing on his face. 

**What the fuck has just happened?**


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 is in the middle of heavy editing.

Mickey is already a tensed life-size bundle of nerves when he hears a doorbell. Finally. What could possibly take this motherfucker so long? He opens and just drags the guy inside and presses him against the door hardly. He probably hurt the back of his head, but they both love it rough. 

"What took you so long?" He says attacking his neck holding his hips tightly. The guy chuckles and pulls Mickey closer by his waist. He turns both of them around switching their places and pressing Mickey to the door. 

"Relax, Milkovich. I'm not going anywhere." He says biting his earlobe, with his hot breath sending electric flatter through smaller guys' bodies. Mickey palms his crotch and grabs it slightly harder than necessary, "Easy down there. I am not the one who was ditching the other for so long."

"Cry me a river," Mickey snaps and hurriedly walks to the bedroom dragging him behind. He waited long enough. If they don't start now, someone gonna gets hurt.

"I love when you are bossy...which is always." he smiles watching him tearing off his clothes on his way to the bed. 

"Marcus!" He yells.

"On my way," he hurries after him and climbs onto the bed with indiscreet lust in his eyes. Mickey always envied his loyalty to and frankness about his desires. Micky himself had to spend years of struggle his inner demons to look at the guy without masking his interest in his eyes. Marcus sucks his jawline, giving him small teasing bites in between. 

Mickey used to hate foreplays for many reasons. It was enhancing the chances of getting caught when he was in the closet. He also used to feel a strong resistance towards it, cause the whole his nature was screaming scream 'Gay'. But now, over the time, he kinda gets what all the fuss was about. Although currently, right at this moment, he didn't feel like that's what he needed. Marcus is an artist from the head to toe. Perfectionist, daydreamer, a bit pretentious, hate mediocrity, self-righteous and uncompromising. He speaks slowly like the whole world is ready to wait for him, just to hear what he has to say. His moves are slow as well, but confidence in moves make him look like a beast on the hunt. As an artist he uses the same approach to the sex, trying to turn each intercourse into a masterpiece. 

Marcus hangs crook of Mickey's leg, fixating them around his waist. Mickey pulls him closer by the back of his head and what he is doing is amazing. He is so hard already, and he would be embarrassed how quick he got turned on, but so is Marcus considering by the hard evidence poking against his thigh. He is moaning and shaking in anticipation. It's been so long, and his body is so ready. But then happens something that doesn't fit in their regular scenario. He feels Marcus' lips on his, that are vigorously sucking his bottom lip. The thing is that Mickey always has been devotedly obstinate about his 'no kissing' policy. Marcus knows it. Hates it, but knows it. What game is playing this little shit? He pushes his head and scowls at him.

"What you think you are doing?" He gives his best 'WTF' look, "No kissing, remember?" 

"If you don't want to kiss, stop asking for it." He sounds irritated but quickly overcomes it and goes back to initial work, sucking his throat. His hold tightens on Mickey's waist as he pulls him closer. 

"The fuck you talking about," he asks, not really care to hear the reply giving into the sensation. Marcus answers between the kisses. 

"You don't want me to kiss you, stop moaning 'lip' every two seconds," 

His words hit Mickey like a bucket of cold water. Muscles tighten in his belly. 

"Wha- What- What did you say?" 

The room gets darker in no time, and suddenly it's so quiet that for a moment Micky is certain that he got deaf. He tries to pull Marcus' head up, but the other guy resists hiding his face deeper into the crook of his neck. "What the fuck did you just say?" He pulls him up but instead of what suppose to be Marcus he recognizes familiar mop of light brown hair, bow-shaped lips in a permanent smirk, and usually distracted eyes, staring into Mickey's. 

"He said to stop moaning out my name," Lip replies with a confident composure. It punches wind out of him, leaving him in a cold sweat. He didn't miss unfamiliar ice coldness in his voice, that like steel was cutting ears. His tone is odd and unnatural and sends shivers down to his spine. The whole situation is just surreal. 

"I did not," or did he? 

"Come on, Mick. There is nothing to be ashamed of." He brushes Mickey's cheek with the back of his hand, while is looking at his lips. And Mickey must be going through some sort of sleeping paralysis because he can't move, can't look away, can't even blink, but as some fucking compensation, skin senses heighten up. Every touch he made burns the skin, so does his breath over Mickey's face. 

Lip looks down, to the space between them where Mickey's cock, somehow is still hard, pressed against Lip's thigh. "I can help you with that." he pointedly raises his eyebrows mischievously. "Isn't that what friends are for? Help" 

Mickey falls from his bed and it hurts like a bitch. He quickly stands up ready to jump out of his skin any minute and looks around the room. No one. It is still dark. It was after-storm quiet except for the distant buzz of sirens coming from an opened window and his pulse echoing in his ears. Half of the blanket is on the floor, the other half is left on the bed. He breathes heavily and feeling all shaken up. What the motherfucking spine-chilling dream was that? 

wall clock show 4 am. He remembers coming back from work and calling to Marcus. The guy was out of the city, so he just came home and crashed into the bed. Just to fall out of bed a couple of hours later because of some crack-ass fucked up dream. It was weird to say at least.

He knows that there is a message behind this whole mini 'A Nightmare on Elm Street' adaptation his brain so eagerly supplied. It had something to do with Lip, that's for sure. It wasn't new for Mickey to go into his denial mode on the first glimpse of complications. Oh, he mastered it down to fine art, thank you, very much. And even now he didn't want to get into this whole 'look into yourself' fucktangular psychology shit. He just wanted his control over his life, over his dreams, and over his own thoughts back. How is that too much to ask?

When he caught his breath and looked down, he found himself still proud and hard. 

"You can't be serious!" he snarled to his crotch with frustration. 

He failed falling back to sleep and was far from his regular 'happy jolly' mood when he entered the restaurant later the same day. The first thing came into his sight was Lip standing next to the bar counter, eyes running over the papers Sue was shoving him. It was weird to see him after spending the whole night trying not to think about him. The 'original Lip' was different from Lip he saw in his nightmare ('nightmare that made you hard' provided his brain). The creepy one, obviously, is a projection of his sick brain, but the wave of shiver going through his body, distantly reminding a thrill, that he feels every time he thinks about the previous night, is real. 

Look at him! Standing there, so unbothered while Mickey's sanity is collapsing into the black hole. Anger took over. Who the fuck this son of a bitch think he is, coming into Mickey's dreams like into his own home, occupying all his thoughts, scaring the shit out of him ('turning you on' helps stupid brain) and then just stand there like he has nothing to do with a rat's crap. Time to pay rent. Since rationality was never Mickey's strong side and impulsiveness was his middle name, he approached poor, nothing bad expecting guy, and gave him hard, fast and palpable punch on the arm. 

"Ow," Lip groaned. His face grimaced in pain and confusion, "What was that for?" 

"Nothing. Just happy to see ya, man" he grumbles, sounding forced, through his gritted teeth, glaring at him intensively. Then he turns around, turning up his nose, without further ado dashes away from the agape couple before they had a chance to ask any stupid questions. From the reflection in a mirror in front of him, he sees Lip looking at Sue completely abashed  
  
"What did I do?" he demands. 

"Troubles in the paradise?" he hears before turning right to the staffroom before he can hear a reply. 

The whole day he spends looked slightly more energetic than a zombie. He couldn't focus on orders and served the wrong dishes enough times to get fired. That's why when he was sitting on a couch in Lip's office after the work, because if he stays in the staffroom with Alexei for more than 10 minutes, he will kill that dickweed, and that will be valid. And that's how Lip finds him, bent on the armrests of the couch, leg stretched over the couch, staring at his phone with frowning and eyes furrowed, like if the phone served him some personal offense. He looks up at Lip who keeps standing next to the door, the hand is still on the doorknob he has closed, expectantly gazing Mickey. He frowns deepens.

"What?"

"I don't know. Should I expect another punch?" He is not pissed, more like entertained by Mickey's mood swings and by the love for dramatic notions. But Mickey still feels the small pinch of guilt. 

"Tempting. But no." Mickey looks back to his phone pretending to be too engaged by it to care, or at least to play for time. 

"What was that all about anyway?" he takes his jacket off not tearing his eyes of Mickey. Lip looks good after work. He always looks good. But after work, with his hair messy, with his shirt and jacket wrinkled, looking tired, but still have the energy to give Mickey his best smile, he looked breathtaking. Sloppy looking Lip is a sight for sore eyes. The absurdity if the whole situation is that Mickey never been the gay who was into the appearance, he has no idea where this girl-crush cheesy shit is coming from.

"Wanted to bring some brutality into our relationship," mickey brushes him off not lifting his head but watching him with a corner of his eyes. 

"Do I have right for a veto in it?" Mickey pulls his knees to his stomach to make some space for Lip to sit on. 

"Sure," 

"Veto!" he says firmly 

"Whatever, man" 

"Are you mad at me or something?" Mickey finally meets his gaze. Never in a million years, under threat of death, he will admit what exactly was bothering him. It's fucking embarrassing, but it's not Lip's fault that Mickey's brain is gone all horny and gay. 

"Nah, man. It's not you. Have classes coming. Stressing out a bit, that's it." 

Lip doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push forward either. Instead, he reaches Mickey's knee squeezes it lightly and says giving him a small smile: 

"Come on, man. If there is something out there, you know you can rely on me, right?" 

The pinch of guilt turns into the full strike. He gives a weak nod. And then Lip adds something that makes it even worse.  


" _ **Isn't that what friends are for?**_ "  



	15. Chapter 15

They were at a farewell party for Sue. She and her wife are moving to California and opening their own beauty salon or some woman shit. Apparently, Lip knew from the beginning, but didn't tell anyone, since Sue asked him not to. So they closed the restaurant earlier, and after the teary announcement and all teary toasts, the party still is in full gear. Mickey for 20 minutes was having a highly civilized discussion with Alexei about him being a motherfucking asshole. 

"You are an asshole, why people tolerate you, but not me?" He was beyond hammered, so he got all salty. Who knew that drunk Lyosha is a sappy Lyosha. He must be the only Russian who gets boozed so fast.

"Years and years of practice," mickey mumbles, not like the guy was listening anyway. He was glancing at Sue and Lip with a corner of his eyes. The situation that involving his suddenly sexually frustrated gay ass and certain curly individual, can be called if not resolved then at least bearable. He got his shit together and was fully ignoring all thoughts objectifying his friend. Was it hard? As balls. But he felt more and more relieved, knowing he is not screwing things up. At least, not this time.

"I'm just being straightforward. Honest with people. If you smell like a wet ass, I will say that you smell like a wet ass. How is that rude? And suddenly I quote 'uncooperative, unprofessional, create a toxic environment, and generally a lousy scumbug'" Alexei keeps whining not really giving much shit if he is being heard or not.

Mickey's alcohol tolerance significantly decreased since he started hanging out with Lip. How else he could explain dizziness he felt? He didn't get affected by three and a half bottles of beers since he was fourteen, but on his fourth bottle, he felt tipsy enough and couldn't help but get his eyes to fall on Lip every 10 seconds or so. Each time Lip catches his gaze, he sends him a small smile and a half nod, making Mickey flush a little bit.

Mickey's mind starts to wander, digging out things that he buried in the darkest corner of his mind. How come Lip is friends with him. It's illogical, irrational, unreasonable, and just stupid. Its everything that Lip is not. So how come they were friends? He was avoiding this question by all means, but, how is the hell that happened? 

He was Lip's personal bully for years and treated him like a piece of shit. He dated his brother, treated his brother like a one-time thing first couple of years of their relationship. Lip got into the fight with his brother because of him. Oh, he also deals with Mickey's periodic outbursts and habit of running away, and generally soap opera queen attitude. Mickey has more complaints from costumers than any other waiter, because if you didn't know Mickey sucks at waitressing, and Lip is the one that has to deal with all his screw-ups. So, there is the question of why? What a masochistic sick bastard would want to be in this kind of relationship? Lip that's who. 

Mickey remembers him at school. Well, at least a good majority of it. He has pumped him skunk weed every once in a while, he did a couple of his assignments for the school. They ain't exchanged a word outside these two occasional intercourses. And he remembers middle-school Lip and his 'pre-ambitious jerk' period. With an old back-pack that has seen better days, with Robyn Hood wannabe attitude, standing for weak and helpless. 

Is that Mickey is in Lip's eyes? Weak and helpless. Is he a charity case? Poor thug who was left by his bother, went to the prison, has periodic outbursts every now and then, and constantly gloomy mood. He could have gone all lunatic again, making a scene, protecting his boundaries, but throwing tantrums every other day makes it so mainstream. Mickey likes to think he is more creative than that. Besides the idiot has a habit taking all responsibility and blame on himself, so it's like stealing candy from a baby: 1) its too easy, 2) it's unworthy it3) you will feel like a piece of shit afterward. He doesn't notice Lip taking a seat on a chair next to him from the other side. 

"What are you frowning about?" He is holding a piss-poor excuse for a beer. Mickey told him to take a joint from the inner pocket of his backpack, but Lip waved it off. 

"We are talking right moment, you don't see?" Mickey forgot that Alexei was still there complaining his ass off. 

"Yeah, sorry to interrupt. Did you apologize to Scott?" Russian guy's made a face, "go find him and bring your best 'I'm sorry' you can dig out your drunk brain. And I don't wanna fucking hear any complaints about you, man." Lyosha sighed but obediently left mumbling something under his nose in Russian, probably swearings.

"So what's the deal?"

"Nothing. Just trying to remember the classes for the next week." He brushes him off. Lip developed habit monitoring mickey's mood swings. Like he doesn't have shrink for that. The bastard can feel small changes with some 7th sense shit or other mystical crap. 

"You didn't go this week?"

"'s my last year. I don't have many courses. Besides, it's the intro week. So..." he makes a vague gesture. Lip nods in acceptance. 

"Can't believe she is leaving." Mickey looks at Sue dancing with her wife, some of her friends, and a couple of cooks or dishwashers. Mickey doesn't recognize their job without their uniforms, "Do you have anyone on her place?" He looks back at Lip.

"Going through some candidates, but you know," he replies unenthusiastically taking a sip, "who can replace her?" He gestures with his beer bottle towards the dance-floor.

"True." then adds with a smirk, "Sue thinks you're drinking again," 

"No shit." He smiles nodding. 

"Or, ya know, that you get it daily, nightly and ever-so-rightly." Mickey giggles tipsily.

"You, drunk-ass. She didn't actually say that" 

"No," he confirms, "she assumed that you might be seeing someone, I paraphrased to something less fucking sappy." Lip brush his lip with a thumb.

"What gave her that impression?" 

"I dunno. You are walking around and beaming like a lamp, maybe she thought that you got your bulb polished" he waggles his eyebrows making Lip laugh throwing his head back. 

"An irony is that I haven't got my bulb or any other my part polished for months," he says catching his breath. Somehow Mickey is pleased by the fact. Mean he wasn't the only one who was practicing compelled celibacy. 

"How come?" Not like Mickey's really that surprised. Even though it's hard to imagine that someone with that body doesn't get it occasionally, he sees how Lip works his ass off so persistently like under the barrel pressed against his temple. Mickey both respects and doesn't catch on this ambitious stubborn determination. It's not about money, he is sure. Mickey has a feeing that it has something to do with commitments he failed to make in the past. 

But Lip looks at him considerately. He looks down on his beer bottle and chuckles sheepishly, shaking his head.

"I really shouldn't' tell you this shit," Mickey catches his breath. He is not sure if he wants to know about Lip's sex life, but on the flip side he wants to know everything about Lip. 

"What?" He asks suspiciously but seeing that Lip just smirks into his bottle Mickey breaks down. "Oh, would you spit it our already, lady Margaret. Stop playing hard to get, would ya."

"Fine Hothead Mcghee. There is a woman." he is ginning obviously feeling awkward telling it. And for a moment Mickey thinks to drop it, but then think 'fuck it'. He wants to know. 

"It was established that it's a female human. What woman?"

"A customer. And she comes, well, at least twice a month. She sits on the same table throwing eye fucking gazes." He points to one of Scott's tables, "Wouldn't guess what she wants if it wasn't for Sue. Before leaving she always approaches and leaves a hotel room card. First-time thought she forgot it in the bill holder. I went to the hotel to return it. She offered to come in, and you know," his grin widens," to thank me"

"It sounds like a plot for the most mainstream porn I have ever heard." He grins but can't help but feel the pitch of jealousy, "How come I've never seen her?" 

"The last time she said something about vocation in Rome with kids," he says casually 

"Wait. Kids?" 

"And a husband," he provides smugly.

"Phillip Gallagher, you are a little dirty side piece," he laughs pushing his shoulder. Not that he judges him. It wasn't a big deal where they were growing up. When you have no money and too much time, affairs are the only type of entertainment. 

"The craziest part is that I saw her on papers. I think her husband is some old politician or something." 

"Not so innocent as after all, Gallagher. Quiet pond and shit, huh?" He knows that Lip is not exactly a monk or some saint. He dated his sister and he heard one or two things about his flings from Ian. But he always thought of him as Gallagher's moral police and doesn't stick into before marriage and fuck. 

"You'd be surprised." And for a moment Mickey thinks that it sounds too intimate, but again he is on a half way to get wiped out so he can't be trusted. "What about you?"

"Huh?" He raises his eyebrow and pauses his bottle halfway to his mouth. 

"Don't play dumb." He elbows him and Mickey pushes him back failing to hide his grin. 

"You really want to hear about gay sex?" Mickey's eyebrows reach the peak with a challenge. 

"I want to hear about your sex" he corrects, which doesn't really correct a shit and in addition sound ambiguous as fuck. 

There is nothing exciting about his sex life. Whenever he has a need he calls Marcus, or sometimes when Marcus has his needs he calls Mickey. As easy as that. No strings attached. Minimum feelings involved. Pure sex. His best relationships so far. He doesn't really tell people about Marcus, because Marcus is, well, Marcus. Only his shrink knows about him because the woman first class cross-questioning and could have to make a skyrocketing career as an interrogator. Telling Lip about Marcus wouldn't be a bad idea nor a good idea. It's just an unimportant fact that doesn't change the weather. So, why not. 

"Ok. There is a dude," he says reluctantly because it's still hard to talk about dudes. Especially, with Lip. "Marcus. He buys drugs from me. Like regular, or whatever. He is kinda my go-to guy. If you know what I mean," he catches the tip of his nose, "Met him when he used to be a TA in Fine Art class in the first year of my college." Lip looks at him expectantly, but when Mickey doesn't say anything.

"You like him?"

"Fuck, no" he snorts. The idea is kinda ridiculous, for many reasons. Marcus is not a person. He is a natural phenomenon. He doesn't belong to anyone, but himself. Like lightning or some fucking tornado. They are beautiful in eyes and you like to watch them from afar, but God forbid have them in your life. "I mean yeah, but not like...He is helluva hot." He states, "One of the hottest dudes I know. For comparison, he is like Halley Berry if is she was was a dude, tall muscular dude." Lip nods excepting the explanation.

"Is that why you sleep with him?" 

"Nah, man. He is like the most available dick around, that happen to be stunningly hot." He shrugs easily. He says honestly, which is true. He avoids going to Fairy Tales because he doesn't want to run into Ian. Mickey is not exactly the life of a party, and he can admit that he became more tolerable over the years. But still thinking about going down some bar to look for a hook up was troublesome as fuck. He just happy that he doesn't have to put much effort to get laid. 

Lip frowns, which he does when he is deeply in thoughts or seriously considering something.

"It wouldn't be an awful thing to start dating people at some point, ya know," he leans to the back of the chair to have a better look at Mickey's face. "Maybe not this particular dude. But, I don't want to think that my idiot brother forever ruined dating scene for you." He pulled his best-concerned voice. It expectantly rouses irritation in Mickey, they both knew were coming whenever Ian's name raises in conversation. 

"Rat's ass, that's what he ruined for me."

"Come on, man. You don't have to be all tough, 24/7. I was there, remember? How cheesy it wouldn't sound, he was your first crush, first boyfr-" 

"Fuck you, he was my first crush!" Mickey blurts out. Because fuck him, if he thinks that Mickey's life was circling around the motherfucking star, called Ian. But he should have processed it before giving it away so easily. Lip's eyebrows raise up forming lines on his forehead. 

"He wasn't?" He pushes himself off the chair back closer to Mickey, looking both bewildered and curious.

"No. It wasn't him," he says in surrender, cause what's the point to deny. 

"Who was it, then?" 

"Wouldn't you wish to know?" Mickey smirks. 

"Now, who is a fucking Lady Margaret? It's somebody I know, isn't it?" 

Mickey raises his eyebrows startled, probably, giving himself plainly. 

"Knew it. Is it Cohen?" Mickey gives him a puzzled look, "Jock? From the school team? Big, muscled, dumb. Or, Krasinski? Wait, no. Don't tell me it's Markovich" he suggests laughing with a grimace of aversion on his face. 

"Fuck you," he snickers. How ironic that, of all people, he was the one sitting here with poor-ass attempt to guess Mickey's childhood crush. That's should exactly be a 'Dear diary moment'. 

And suddenly it seemed like the right thing to say. He feels this impulsive urge to tell him, so he diving in headfirst. 

"You" 

At first, he thinks that he didn't hear him, but Lip lifts his gaze, blinking at him and looking completely dumbfounded. Mickey's nonchalance starts to fade away getting replaced by agitation. But it's not like a big deal. The expiration date passed a long ago, they can laugh about it, right? 

"It was you." He inhales deeply, "In the middle school. You were walking around with this huge backpack covered with Spiderman stickers. Your curls used to be so fucking unruly making your head look twice bigger and you always smelled like baby formula. And, ya know. There was a situation with Mr. Preston, I guess" Lip sat still, not offering any sign of acknowledgment, but Mickey continues rubbing his lower lip nervously, "English teacher? Xenophobe? Was bulling me for whatever fucking reason" he knows his voice is a bit shaky," Until you came all Darkwing Duck on him like a terror that flaps in the night." He lets out an awkward, nervous chuckle. "I remember thinking that no one has done anything like that for me before. And it all kinda happened." 

Lip looks unfazed the whole time Mickey was speaking. It's so dumb, they were just talking and messing around, but Mickey out of blue had to bring this shit up. He wonders how bad the whole idea was. Was that too much? Was that a line that Mickey crossed? Yeah, he probably served it too fast. 

"Listen, man. It was like ages ago. We were fucking kids." he lifts his hand to pat the other guy's shoulder but changes his mind half-way, "I need to piss," he says instead, using a moment to retreat. Lip, most likely needs time to let the information sink in. He always was reasonable one out of two of them. He will understand. Like he always does. Mickey, defiantly, didn't ruin their friendship with his stupid attachment. 

In the bathroom, he splashes his face with cold water. He shouldn't have drunk that much. What was he thinking? But was it that outrageous thing to say? He doesn't know what conclusion Lip came to, and that was the worst part out of all. Is he mad? Disgusted? Why didn't he react? Was he scared of him? 

The bathroom door gets burst opened hitting the wall behind. Lip enters the room, eyes quickly scanning the room until they fall on Mick. Room is empty, so no one hears when he loudly says. 

"Was that why you were busting on me?" it sobers up faster than cold fucking water. 

Lip is heavy breathing, making his chest and shoulders go up and down, and generally looks worked up. Fire in his eyes and constantly clenching and unclenching fists would make you think he is mad. But against all Mickey's fears, he doesn't look mad or disgusted. Overwhelmed maybe? 

"Yes- No- not exactly." He stutters. 

"Not exactly? It was, what, wooing in Milkovich style, or some shit?" He approaches making Mickey retreat backward. 

"Fuck, no!" 

"Then what?" he huffs irritated. Mickey crosses his hands on his chest and lifts his gaze to the right upper corner of the room to get a grip on himself and pull his act together. It helps a little, so the next thing he says comes out slowly defining each word. 

"I was nine years old boy who found out that he wasn't like the rest. That I was fucking disgusting and didn't deserve to breathe, according to my father. And I believed it. And I was mad. So fucking mad. I know it was a silly thing to think, but in my head, you were the one who made me gay."

Tension from Lip's shoulders vanishes, but clenched fists and spark in the eyes remain. Mickey is almost happy that he is angry. It was sad and infuriating at the same time how easily Lip was getting over years and years of bullying from Mickey's side. The guilt was growing like a snowball inside him, making him feel unworthy of their friendship. But now he has a chance to tip the scales. Mickey will make sure of it. 

"You can punch me if you want." he offers, "you can punch me as many times as you want."   
Lip lifts his unfazed gaze on Mickey. He doesn't give any response but his eyes fire up with a dead serious determination to take an action. When Lip moves quickly he almost ready for a punch, but what he doesn't prepare himself for is being pulled by the vest of his uniform into softness Gallagher's lips. He must look comical with wide-eyes staring forward, but feeling one hand behind his neck and another on his waist, both pulling him forward to Lip's body, he couldn't help but dive into his heat. It doesn't take him long before he gives into hid lips devotedly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a week or so to edit this shit. Won't be able to post anything new. Those who are reading, please don't hold yourself from sharing criticism, opinion, or something that you'd like to see in the upcoming chapters. For those who are curious, Mickey and Lip are hooking up the next chapter. There are plans on getting Svetlana and Yev onto the scene.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write smut, but it's just so hard. In the process, I discovered some extra limbs and not enough synonyms for a male organ. So I'm leaving it to your imagination. Hope you'll like it.

Mickey felt weirdly good standing there, making out in the middle of the dirty bathroom, while somewhere on the background some modern pop mashup was coming from the dance floor. The iron grip on his waist, and, in contrast, soft hold on his neck, with a thumb caressing his jaw, was enough to take Mickey's breath away. He has no idea what to do with his hands. He really doesn't want to scare this moment away, but when Lip pushes his tongue inside, pulling him even closer, pressing Mickey to his firm body, he feels charged. Mickey clutches his neck and elbow in search of support. Heat, coming from Lip's body can be felt through layers of clothes. The combined smell of deodorant, sweat, and cigarettes shouldn't turn on, but Mickey finds himself moaning into his mouth. His heartbeat pound resonates in his ears covering a tasteless excuse for a piece of music coming from the hall through closed doors. It's too hot in here. So hot. He needs more. 

The door bang opens up rapidly, forcing them to pull back from each other so fast, and in a split second, they are standing on the opposite ends of the room. Alexei bashes past them and burst into the cabin. He wouldn't notice if the ground split opened or sky fell down, by being busy throwing up the content of his stomach. The compulsive sounds accompanied by growling and coughs fills the space. Then he simply walks out of the cabin, looking wrecked, and only then he detects two of them. They must look frantic, with messy hair, breathing rapidly, not tearing dilated, and roused eyes from each other. Mickey doesn't know what he sees but looking from one to another he asks. 

"Are you boys going to throw down?" the guy is piss drunk, and not receiving any response says "Good. Maybe a good fight will give this shitty party a bit of heat." 

Mickey is the first one who snaps out of it. What the hell has just happened? He examines the room around for a possible answer. He gazes on Alexei with a surprise, not sure when the guy has materialized there. Then he gazes Lip who looks so wiped out and, Oh God, so fuckable, staring on Mickey's lips with so much vigor and intension behind his eyes. He has to leave. He has to leave now before he does something stupid and irreversible that will ruin whatever. He needs to think over through everything has just happened. 

Mickey quickly rushes past Lip and out of the bathroom. He doesn't remember how he got his backpack and somewhere in the middle, he remembers that left without saying anyone a thing. It was Sue's party, he should have at least said good-bye. From the flip side, she is not leaving till next week, so it's not that urgent he decides. In the hall, he runs into his neighbor, old Mrs.Perry. Because of her sleeping deprivation, the old woman hangs out there all the fucking time. 

"Hey, dear. Did you see Snowball? I can't find him anywhere." She asks worriedly. Yeah, the old single woman has cats. What a surprise. 

"No, Mrs.P. If you won't find him till tomorrow, we can look for him together." He passes her quickly before she has a chance to ask anything. Mickey has no desire to do a small chat, or look for her fucking animal pet in the middle of the night. Not today, not now.

Kicking off his shoes, dropping his bag somewhere on halfway to the living room, he flops on the couch, letting himself have a moment of break, and letting the feeling of fatigue spread evenly throughout his body. But he quickly collects himself back and sits upright on the couch. He needs answers, he needs logic, he needs his clarity if he wants to figure out what in the fucking hell was going on. His brains jump from one thought to another like a drunk fucking kangaroo. He brushes his fingers through his hair in frustration, only to notice his hands trembling. The whole experience was shocking. His confession was shocking, Lip's spaced out reaction was shocking, their fight was shocking, the kiss was a king of shocks, and his reaction to it was the next most shocking thing in this list of holy terror list. 

Mickey tries to see a logic, he really does. But there is none. How can they transition from fight to a making out? Was Lip high after all? Was Mickey hallucinating? It makes the jack of sense. Was it like a punishment or a test? Did he pass it? Lip was straight. Was he straight? If he wasn't why he didn't tell Mickey? But no, Mickey is pretty sure he is straight as a whistle. Does he regret? Is he going nuts like Mickey right now? How is he supposed to act when he faces Lip? Does he need to act as nothing happened? Does he have to apologize? If yes, what for? His head is going to blow. Too many questions and no glimpse of an answer. 

Several years ago he would headfirst into this shit not batting an eye, but he is not that Mickey anymore. And it took him a hard-way to learn about the actions-consequence link. You can't just do what the fuck you want and hope that it won't bite you in your ass later on. He wants to do things right, and it's a completely helluva new land for him, that he has to explore, orienting blindfolded. For all he knows, he has to avoid falling into line with his instincts and desires, no matter how strong they are. 

He sighed deeply dropping his head on his hands. In the dark silence of his living room, Mickey at least could admit to himself, that it felt fantastic. Kissing Lip Gallagher was the most fucking overwhelming things he has done in years. He still could feel a fantom sensation on his lips from Gallagher's touch, and ticklish, sweet feeling of anticipation around the belly each time Mickey brushes his fingers over them. Fucking Gallaghers made their life purpose to make feel Mickey gay. 

The knock on the door pulls him out of his thoughts. The old bat won't stop nagging him until he will find this white ball of fur. He doesn't expect to see Lip. He really doesn't, because Lip usually makes sure to give Mickey time and space, that literally is the core of their friendship. Lip always knows what is best for Mickey. But here he is standing in his entrance, looking wrecked like if he has sprinted a mile. Familiar fire in his eyes was outrageous and compare to Mickey he didn't seem to be eating himself out about consequences. If he didn't know better he would think that Lip is drunk. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"Came to finish what we have started," he says pulling by his vest, catching his lips on his own and Mickey feels relieved. He was not gonna admit it, but deep down there was a spark of hope that the kiss won't be the last one. He feels like a hypocrite running away from what they both obviously want. But he would be devastated if it turned out that for Lip it was just a brief moment impulse because no matter how hard it is to admit, Mickey cares about Lip more than he'd care to show. 

Lip cradled with one hand and gripped into his waist with another, giving Mickey a long, slow and deep kiss, that canceling all laws of gravity, because Mick feels like he is floating. Mickey roughly glides his fingers through his hair and tightens his hand into the fist and pulling them. He feels Lip growls deeply into his mouth and sucks him in with more gusto cupping his face. Lip pushes him back into the apartment, closing the door behind, while Mickey lets his hands wander over the firm torso wanting more. He wanted to take off this shirt and touch everything that was under. He pulled off his face looking down on his body, letting his hands trail all over his body, and then looks up at Lip's face. How far he wanted to go? How far he would he let him to go? As a response to his inner conflict Lip starts to unbutton his shirt keeping his giddy gaze fixed on Mickey's face. He took off his shirt and quickly pulled his undershirt throwing both aside. The message can't be more clear. 

"Do you get what you are putting out for?" Mickey almost hates himself for not being able to just take advantage. "It can't be right." 

"Available dick." He says in a harsh tone and Mickey doesn't know what the fuck that is supposed to mean. 

"What?"

"You said you don't care who it is as long as it's available." He reminds sounding breathless and looking too preoccupied, as he pulls him closer by the waistband, "I'm available" he says too far away for this world, being busy obsessively unbuttoning Mickey's vest. The vest lands next to his shirt. 

"Is this all your argument? Available dick? You are fucking straight," he tries to remind, even though his mind is screaming 'Shut the fucking zipper'. Lip is far too persuaded that it's a closed case. He sucks Mickey in again pulling him by the waist, then kiss his chin, trail down to his neck. He does a light little bite on his neck, before licking it over. 

"Trust me, this is not a problem." He says lifting his plastered, unfocused gaze. He takes Mickey's palm and puts it on his crotch as evidence of his words. And that's a really good point, Mickey thinks. A great point he would say. The point seems to run in their family, apparently. 

"Bedroom," he announces, dragging him behind. He hears Lips shaky chuckle and feels his chest crowding Mickey from behind, rushing them into the bedroom. 


	17. Chapter 17

"Mrs.Perry, it's not necessary. Eggs are fine." Lip tries to assure an old woman, that disappeared in the depth of her apartment. He already was holding a small carton of eggs in one hand and a carton of milk in another. Thic smell of old people, mint of medicine, and smell of cat overtook the place was coming from the framed hole of her apartment. But it wasn't the exact reason he was in a rush to leave the hall, in spite of her over-eagerness to have a small talk. 

"Don't be ridiculous. You need bread for your scrambled eggs." She responds coming back with a plastic bag of white bread. 

"Thank you, Mrs.Perry," he says looking back at Mickey's door hoping she will get a hint already. 

"Oh, well. You, youngsters, are always going somewhere. Always have to move like those sharks in the Discovery channel. Yesterday, this lovely boy, from 216b, Mickey, galloped past me like he is been chased by a demon." she shared her indignation shaking her head with a theatrical sigh. 

If only she knew, thinks Lip, looking down to hide his grin. 

"Lovely boy. Lovely boy. Also 'homo'" she informs quieter, looking right and left, "My third husband was 'homo'. Died from AIDS." She says and then turns at him looking meaningfully with raised eyebrows. "You look like my second husband." She adds pursing her thin lips into a thinner line.

"Did he die from AIDS too?" she didn't notice or ignored mocking notes in his voice. 

"No. Was executed on the electric chair," she says drily. Lip's smirk flattens right away, eyebrows shoot up. "Was a serial killer." She sighs nostalgically, not noticing Lip's gulp, " but what a wonderful voice he had. Like Frank Sinatra's" Lip wasn't sure if he should comment that anyhow.

"Anyway, I can't find my cat. His fur is white and responds to Snowball. Please, be a good kid and bring it back if you see him." She says caressing Lip by cheek and then gives a sensible slap, waving him off dismissively. She closes the door right in front of his face, leaving Lip with twofold feelings about the shit has just happened now. He made a reminder never to knock this door again. Ever! He almost reaches Mickey's door when he sees a white-furred cat lying in the middle of the floor. His tail was wagging right and left, while his unimpressed gaze was focused on Lip. They stare at each other for a while, studying one another. Lip tears his eyes from the cat to look behind at the old crone's door, to just look back at the cat again. His face shows a glimpse of hesitation but immediately smoothes that away.

"Oh, well." He shrugs and steps over the meowing animal, and continues on his way to the apartment. 

When he opens the door Mickey is standing in the middle of the living room look all lost. He looks at Lip with eyes twice bigger and eyebrows flying up. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Keep asking that and I'll actually believe that you don't want me here," he huffs as he makes his way to the kitchen, which is combined with the living room, tagging Mickey's gape along with him. 

"I'm making scrambled eggs. Hope you like it," he says taking out a bowl from a cupboard. 

"Where did you get...everything?" Lip throws a glance at him. He looks less distressed and more curious as he enters the kitchen space staying behind Lip. 

"Talked to your charming neighbor. Mrs.Perry." 

"Pff, old bat," Mickey sniffs derisively. 

"She said I looked like her husband," he informs chuckling. 

"Really? Which one?" for the first time Mickey's voice has more natural hints of interest. Lip brushes his thumb across his forehead.

"Eh, hubby number two? " 

"Ouch" he pulls a face, "She said I look like her third husband." 

"The one who died from AIDS?" Lip turns around to see Mickey's face. 

"My ass, that what he died from. He runs away from her to his tennis partner and lives in Idaho with him for over 30 years now. Her daughter stopped by and was very informative." 

"That's so fucked up, man" Lip laughs turning back to his work. 

Lip was using a coffee mug to cover his poorly suppressed grin as he was studying Mickey from across the table, as they were having breakfast together. It was quite entertaining, like watching an animal planet. Mickey throws poorly covered furtive glances at Lip every ten seconds and averts his gaze each time their eyes meet, twirling on his seat like a six-year-old overdosed with sugar. 

Periodically his ears were turning red and Lip knows exactly what he was thinking about. Yesterday night was dirty, and Lip thinks that it has to be in the top 5 of the hottest nights he had. They were moving in rhythm like some fucking dancers. The noises were coming from Mikcey were just unhallowed, and If before Lip though that Mickey is awful at being gay, he is taking everything back. The guy is a beast ace. Lip's body shudders in response to the memories. 

Yesterday after Mickey's runoff (AGAIN), Lip's first thought was to give him space and let him figure his shit out. But he knew if he didn't act right away, Mickey would be halfway to Canada filled with frustration, discomfort, and being all melodramatic. Lip doesn't know how to go half. Only full and that's the problem most of the time.

"How did you sleep?" Lip says taking a sip from his mug pulling his 'I'm all ears' face. Mickey is probably the most direct person Lip knows. He hates any kind of hints, mixed or covered signals, understatements, or any form of euphemism. Lip suspects that Mickey doesn't know how to interpret their previous night, and it must be killing him

"'s fine," Mickey grumbles under his breath looking at him sullenly. 

"I slept wonderfully. You have a very good mattress I have to say. Never felt so comfortable in my li-"

"Oh, fuck off." He finally blows up."It's not a funny asshole"

"Maybe not, but look on your face is precious," he says not bothering to mask his laugh.

"Do we have to talk about what happened yesterday?"

"It depends" 

"Depends on what?" 

"Depends on whether or not we still have it away after we talk,"

"Fuck you" He whoops with a raspy indrawn breath. 

"That's what I'm saying" Lip provides barefacedly. 

"You are begging for your ass to be kicked." He manages to mellow down a bit, not thanks to a curly motherfucker. "Why you did it?" Mickey can't bring himself to voice what exactly he meant by 'it'. And yesterday was Lip's personal championship of recklessness, so he sums up when he says:

"Does it matter?" He expects Mickey to fight, but he just sighs deeply turning his head away to the window, and Lip knows him enough to see what is happening. He is shutting down again. He is bending under tension, and slowly but persistently distancing away from Lip and if he doesn't do something he won't reach him. "I don't know what do you want me to say, ok. No matter what I say it will make zero sense to you. I know it sounds like an excuse, but believe me when I say that entire language is not enough to convert into words what I felt yesterday." Lip rubs his face with both hands, before keeping on, "Seeing you standing there so up-front and opened, with so much reliance and hope... It just suddenly felt easier to do it than not to." 

Mickey freezes and sits unmoved staring at Lip. His eyes are wider and mouth is half-opened. He deeply exhales and then slowly nods and then nods again looking at his plate with cold forgotten food. Lip could see how hard he was trying to acknowledge, but then he looks up at Lip, with a softened expression of confusion. 

"Answering your question in advance," he catches Mickey's foot with his own feet, "I don't regret it. In fact, I would be very disappointed if it was the last time we did it." He says making Mickey flush a little. 

"So, what are you bi now?" Mickey clears his throat. 

"What answer will get me laid?" He pulls Mickey's foot playfully because making Mickey Milkovich feel awkward is the best thing in the world. Well, the second-best thing in the world. 

'I don't know, but carry on and you will get yourself punched in the throat," Mickey replies tonelessly, giving Lip unimpressed glare. 

"I really doubt that I am anything but straight" Mickey's face falls, and Lip innerly groans."Mick, listen. I can come out as bi or anything you want. I can go change my status on Facebook to 'out and proud'. I can lead next pride parade in nothing but a Tinker-bell costume, but it won't change the fact that the only guy I am into is you." 

It's rare for Mickey not to have anything to say, so Lip assumes that the guy is shocked, to say the least. Who wouldn't be? That's why he continues. 

"For all I know, that I want to press you against that couch and make out until one of us faints." Mickey winces widening his eyes comically. 

"Fuck, man. Cut that out. You can't say shit like that." 

"Just saying, last night was hot as fuck. And we didn't even hit the 'home run'*, which if you want my opinion on, is an unforgivable sin." 

"You don't say," he rolls his eye and flashes a smile, which is a good sign, Lip decides. Mickey hesitates for a moment but eventually says. "Okay" 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah, man. Let's fucking do this." 

"Do what?" Lip is known for being an asshole, so what can you do about it? 

"Fucking tea party," he grumbles, pulling his foot away from capture of Lip's feet and gives him light a kick on the shin. "Fuck. Let's fuck, you moron." 

"Yeah, lets' do that," he takes his feet back into the captivity and grins looking all pleased. Mickey smiles back, because how can you not?

They lamely smile at each other for a while, when Lip remembers he actually has a restaurant to administrate and business to run. He hurriedly puts his shoes on, looks in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair, not helping at all. On halfway to the door out he makes a u-turn going back to Mickey, grasping him by his cheeks, he gives him a deep and harsh good-bye kiss. He almost darts out of the apartment and Mickey watches him nearly leap away on the street. What an idiot, he thinks. He feels something reminding happiness, maybe that's why he frantically grabs his phone and calls to Dr.Webber's assistant almost begging (figuratively, speaking. He is not a bitch) for an appointment. Mickey knows he doesn't have that many self-distractive tendencies anymore. But this entire shit is a whole new level. He needs help or he is so going to screw it up.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home run* - sex involving penetration


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter goes back to the timeline in Chapter 7. So it's September 9th again.

**September 9th**

"So, let me get this straight." Brenda leans forward, eyes fully fixed on Mickey, "You experience a strong sexual attraction to a straight guy for over a month, which you didn't bother to mention during our meetings, and which is the reckless move from your side. I have to say as your therapist-" Mickey rolls his eyes, crossing his hands on the chest, she puts her palms forward in surrender and steers back on track "Okay, all in good time. So, you experience a strong sexual desire to a straight man, who not only initiates sexual intercourse but also shows interest in constant following sexual activities? Well, Mickey, I have to say it and it's entirely my professional opinion. You're a lucky son of a bitch."

He snickers from her reaction, shaking his head but his laugh quickly fades away getting replaced by concerned look on his face. He rubs his clenched fist with another hand, studying the corner of the carpet- something that he does when he feels frustrated. She puts her pen and glasses down. 

"But I have to express my concerns according to your tendency to avoid problems. You can't keep running away, whether it's literally or figuratively." Mickey is a smart guy, no matter how hard he tries to sell this blasé moronic self-image. 

"Oh, come on. I've lived every gay man's fucking fantasy and that's what you are picking out?" he pulled his face, expressing the full range of his disapproval. Like, hello? Who is the therapist here, and who is the patient? 

"I guess, you didn't rip off in the middle of the weekend to your therapist to get a high-five for getting lucky" she pointed out, studying his reaction. "Something bothering you?"

A good half of being a therapist involves knowing the line between encouraging and pushing, and recognizing the moments when you need to push and when it's better to give it a pass for the time being. Working with Mickey those things are more ambiguous than with any other patient. Sometimes it takes time for Mickey to brace himself for an answer, the other time his stubborn ass may refuse to answer a simple question. 

"I think I...It's just I can't get rid of the feeling that I'm going to fucking ruin this whole shit. I don't know when, I don't know how but it's gonna go down the drain like..." He pauses 

"Like what?" he doesn't reply. She has to try to approach from another side, "Why are you here, Mickey?" He's probably trying to find the right words because it takes him a while to answer.

"I...I guess I can't relax. And I'm not even sure if I should relax. Looking at Lip walking on the street all fucking ecstatic and cheerful, like some fucking Spongebob. I panicked, you know? It seemed like a big goddamn mistake. My mind couldn't stop coming up with new scenarios with the same ending, where everything is bad; where someone is hurt, or someone is left behind, or someone loses everyone and everything, and most of the time that someone is me." Mickey used to fidget a lot when they had just started working together,but over years they managed to keep it down to the minimum. Right now he expresses mild forms, by playing with his cuticles, but she catches his left knee-trembling, every now and then. 

"Why not, Mickey?" 

"Why? Because my life is not a fucking 'high-school musical'. Men don't change their orientation for me, they don't cook breakfasts for me. And if I let myself believe in this shit for a moment, I am screwed up. I can't just sit back, because for a moment I believe that there is something more, then something fucked up happens. Real fucked up." He bends each finger and breathlessly lists things, stuttering in-betweens. "It's that or my father beats the shit out of me and my man. Or he rapes me with some random whore, or...or..or the man I love cracks up and goes all manic, or he dumps me for a stupid fucking reason. That! That is my life. Not this cheap 'Sex and the City' parody" He waves his hands in the air gesturing to whatever it is. He is out of breath at the end of his speech. Brenda gives him a time to catch his breath.

"How do you feel?" 

"Tired but better. Thanks. I needed that." He rubs off tears that never appeared. She stands up, goes for a table with a jar of water. She stretches out a glass of water to him, which he gratefully accepts, drinking a half in one gulp. 

She lets out deep a sad sigh to the view of the frustrated hunched boy in front of her. It's a delicate situation, like walking in a minefield. One wrong step and she may lose him, which is why she is highly thorough when she chooses her next words. 

"Mickey you are not your fears." He looks away, "No, listen to me. You are not your mind. You are you, and it only depends on you whether it works out or not. Leave this stupid pattern behind. You are not a South Side thug anymore and you deserve to be happy." 

He nods in acknowledgment and reluctantly, stretching vowels when he admits "I guess so" 

"You can't run forever. If not this there will be something else. Good things are going to happen again and again, and you will have to get out of your bubble of misery eventually, whether you want it or not. But let's work with one problem at the time. What is it that bothers you the most?" She purposely doesn't give him time to object. 

"Uhm, I guess that the guy is straight." He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, "I'm not supposed to be on his fucking radar or whatever." He huffs. 

"There is no rule, process, or tool that can give a clear explanation of how individual preference works. There are bunches of mechanisms behind it, including personal beliefs, live experience, childhood and puberty development, when a person is the most perceptive, which really hard to track. And I am not even talking about sexual preference." he looked at her with a comically cringed face."What I'm trying to say is that no matter how hard you will try to understand why it won't change what we already have."

"Then why not just say that, instead of channelling your inner Dr. Phil."

"He is NOT a doctor," she snaps, frightening crap out of Mickey, but after a moment gets a grip on herself. "Not the point. Maybe you should talk to someone who will understand your fears. How close are you to your community?" 

"Ukrainians? Not so much, why?" puzzled Mickey. 

"No, not that community. The other one." 

"You mean faggots?" She lets out a long disapproving exhale but decided to put that aside for now. 

"I mean people who can understand or maybe even have the same type of experience as you did." 

"I don't know. I don't really know many gays" He confesses

"Can you say that you avoid contact with gay people?"

"Yeah," he nods in confirmation, she furrows her brows quickly taking notes, "Gay, straight, trans...people in general. They are fucking annoying." she drops her pen on the desk with vigour." Can't I just talk to Jimmy?" he questioned exasperatedly pointing on the door behind which Jimmy's desk was set. 

"I doubt it," she collects the papers from her desk, putting them into her bag "He doesn't like you. And he is straight" she takes a pause to give him a meaningful look. 

"Hang the fucking on." He puts his hands up, with palms opened and looks un-fucking-convinced "Are you telling me that the fucking fairy in your reception is straight?" 

He must have come out really loudly because that's immediately followed by Jimmy's:

"Fuck you, Milkovich!" 

There is a pregnant pause, that Brenda and Mickey spend goggling at each other. 

"In my defence, I thought he left for home" Mickey excuses himself. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

On the other part of North Side Lip was trying to solve his own dilemma on the situation. He knew that his obsession with Mickey wasn't something that fit any norm of logic, sanity, and, probably, morality. It's never cool to screw with your brother's ex. He has no idea how he ended up in this position. It seems like the space around Mickey is some fucking Twilight Zone that cancels all the known laws of the Universe. How else explain that instead of pulling Lip towards the ground it pulls him towards Milkovich with a new intensity each and every time. 

Being honest, he doesn't really have an issue with Mickey being a dude. Maybe if that happened at when they were younger, he would feel damned. But he is old enough to know that whatever it is that's between him and Mickey, it’s not something common. It's not something that happens to everybody and it certainly may not happen to him again. He tried not to focus on that aspect, but he and Mickey, they feel each other on a deeper level. Lip feels like he knows and understands him instinctively, and intuitively pulling towards him. The same behaviour he observes in Mickey. It's like it's always been there but both of them were too busy with the vanity of life to notice. Like they finally managed to catch each other's radio waves and are now permanently tuned in each other's radio stations. 

Lip was the brain of the family for a reason. He knows when shit happens. Lots of shit happened throughout his life. He can smell it even before he sees it. That's why he knows, that this thing, him and Mickey thing, it's not that. Whatever it is, it's good. All good. 

You may think that Lip doesn't know that what he is doing is inappropriate, to say the least. He wants to do things right. Ian is his brother and his best friend. The last thing he wants is to make him feel betrayed or hurt. But he would totally understand if he did feel that way. After their fight in the kitchen, they don't really see each other much. But whenever they both are in the same space, one was doing his best to leave the room. To Lip's shame, he felt relieved by their minimized interactions. He has no idea how he'd act if he had to communicate with him on a regular basis. They don't talk, which means it leaves him less room for lies. But it's not gonna last forever.

He needs to talk to somebody -preferably somebody not from work, or anybody who can tell Ian about Mickey. There was one person that immediately comes to his mind. It's 9 am in California, and he really hopes that she is awake by now. He opens his Skype application and, YES, she is online. He makes a video call without sending a prior message because anticipation is driving him nuts. At some point, there is a thought that she's going to decline his call, but against his worries, she answers it. 

"Well, well. Well, I'll be damned if it's not one and only Philip Gallagher," she laughs brightly. He feels guilty for not being in constant contact with her. "Come on, little bro? Don't you have anything to say?" She teases him, seeing his sheepish look.

**_"Hey, Fiona"_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe big gratitude to 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the chapter. Thank you!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I initially planned to make this chapter a lot lighter to read, but it turned out to be what it turned out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to awesome 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the chapter!

"God, you haven't changed at all." She laughs at him, then goes silent looking at him fondly, like she did when he was younger and she was the only mother figure he could imagine. She appears to be sitting in something like a closed patio. There are massive plants mounted twenty feet away from her. 

It's been months since they've talked. He wasn't avoiding her, but it wasn't easy to keep in touch when she wasn't around. Debbie was informing him about her new life and a new job, so it wasn't like he had completely bailed on her. 

"You too," he rubs his head bashfully, as he catches a swift movement behind her, which he reflexively ignores. "How is life in-" he stops himself abruptly. The swift movement turns to wacky-looked woman behind Fiona swaying right and left next to the plants. She is stroking leaves in ecstasy, with a loony smile plastered on her face. It looked so intimate, that it made Lip want to look away.

"What the fuck is that?" He points at the screen, making Fiona look back. 

"Excuse me, hey. Ma'am, could you do that in some other place?" Woman's smile gets wider and she sways out of the sight. "Thank you." She looks back at him giving a sneaky grin. 

"What the hell has just happened?"

"That, yeah." She flicks her hair back, calmly "She was blindfolded for a week or so. Ignore her." 

"She was...Where the hell are you? Wait. Are you in the rehab centre or something?" He can't help but feel perplexed by the absurdity of their conversation. 

"What? Fuck you Lip" she flips him off. The murmur of disapproval comes from speakers, and Fiona throws an apologetic look to her right side, somewhere out of the sight of the camera. 

"Then where are you?" he shoots his eyebrows up in confusion. 

"Okay, yeah. I'm in a community centre. Not for rehab. I didn't-" she says too loud, but immediately decreases her voice to a whisper, “I didn't slide back, I swear." Lip knows what relapse looks like. It's very ugly, and hard to mask. It's always in your eyes; they’re empty, with no sign of hope or anything, just depthless self-loathing and disappointment. 

"Yeah, sorry. I shouldn't have instantly jumped to conclusions." He deflates, immediately. 

"No." She shakes her head, "With the strike, we hit in the genetic lottery it won't hurt to think the worst." 

"So? A community centre?" He placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward to hear every word she says. 

"Yeah," she nods, taking a sip from a mug she takes from the table. "The girl from my AA meetings has told about this place. She was telling lots of stuff and I didn't really give much crap. But a month ago she asked me to visit this place with her, I thought why not? One thing led to another, and now they offered to spend a weekend in here and you know," she self-consciously dropped her eyes to her mug, "If I like it here, I can be a full-time member."

"Huh" 

She shoots him a sharp look. "What?" 

"Nothing." He raises his eyebrow and tugs a tip of his ear, "So they just...randomly offered you to be their member? Out of the blue?" 

"Yeah, I know what you think. But this place is nothing I've seen before. We eat together, we meditate, and we raise our own food. They don't charge anything, you can donate if you want, but it's all up to you." She chatters, gesticulating. 

"I don't know Fi, sounds like a good old cult." He considers, not convinced at all. 

"It is not a cult. It's a community. They help to heal people with addictions and trauma. They are trying to make the world a better place." 

"That's literally what every cult says" he scoffs.

"This is not a cult," she objects audibly and earns a 'shush' from aside. She mouths soundless 'sorry' and shoots a glare back at Lip, "This is not a cult," she repeats quieter. 

"Is that what a huge font line claims on their website?" He asks, sarcastically 

"They don't have a website." She scoffs, loudly "It's not an official organization."

"They don't have a website? Do they at least pay taxes?" 

......

"No"

......

"Don't get too comfy there. They must already have FBI on their asses." 

"Ugh," she sighed, listlessly."So? Besides criticizing my life choices, is there any other reason behind this call?" 

"Yeah," he anxiously clears his throat and adjusts his tie, before telling the whole shit. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"Holy fuck"

"Hush!" someone hisses form aside 

"Holy motherfucker!"

"Hush!" 

"Stop shushing me or I will make it the only sound you can produce for the rest of your life!" She hisses to someone, giving them a challenging glare. "Mickey Milkovich?"

"Mickey Milkovich" he echoes 

"You and Mickey Milkovich" 

"Me and Mickey Milkovich" 

"You and... It may take some time" she considers staring at him in disbelieve. It takes her a good ten minutes to get her shit together. "Okay, I'm cool. Where should we start then? Uhm, are you okay with sleeping with a man?" she asks, carefully.

"Yeah, no problem with that?" he nods earnestly.

"Okay, okay. Uhm, are you, okay him being a Milkovich?" 

"Fiona" he rasped frowning.

"What? I had to ask!" She squealed defensively. 

"Yeah, well. Since when are you a fucking expert in men?" That was a low blow, but Lip is too worked up to care. 

"Oh, you hooked up with one dude and now you're an expert? Yeah, great. Fight with your sister over a Milkovich." 

"That's rich coming from Frank's spawn," he's ready for her next lounge but instead she leans back resting her head on the back of the chair and sighs. 

"Yeah, can't argue with that, can I?" She looks at him under her eyelashes. "Does he make you happy?" 

He shakes his head lightly, "Nah. It just makes me feel alive again."

"Yeah?" She stretches her lips in a crooked smile, "So Mickey Milkovich? How is it?"

"Never boring" she laughs, "And sex. I can't even describe it." He moans into his palm.

"Let's keep it that way. I'm still your sister." She wrinkles her nose in aversion. "Does Ian know?"

"No.," he says weakly, but continues with more vigour. "No. That's actually exactly why I'm calling you. He doesn't know Mickey's around. Everything we say has gotta stay between us." At first, she looks hesitant, not fond of the idea of lying to Ian, but gives up pretty quickly. And he doesn't doubt that she won't tell Ian. Fiona may have her moments, but she never fails the trust she was given. 

"Fine. But I'm doing it just because I felt bad for the kid, going to the prison because of that skanky bitch, in the first place." She points out and goes on with a softer voice. "So Ian doesn't know."

"No. We didn't talk after the fight."

"When was it?"

"A month ago?" he estimates.

"Wow, he must be really pissed. What are you planning to do?" she leans forward with a tender look in her eyes. And he doesn't know what to do. He has too much on his plate, and not enough insight whatsoever. 

"I don't know, Fi" he admits desperately."I really didn't plan it all, I swear. I knew that something was off when I hired him. But, now, do anything you won't but I am not stepping back from him." She must be thrown back by his sudden sincerity, but she quickly recovers.

"Ok," she clears her throat, slowly looking down searching for right words to say, "Then don't"

"What?" he squeezes his eyes staring at her with a grain of salt. 

"Don't step back. Don't give up on anything." she heavily breathes out and continues."Ask me a couple of years earlier, I'd say 'avoid any complication' or 'you already have too much shit to deal with'. I left the South Side because I didn't want to choose safe options anymore. I wanted to be the one that fucking lives according to their own fucking rules, instead of bending under the pressure of circumstances. That'd be selfish of me to offer to give away what you want. You guys are all grown-ups. If he wants it, and you want it, I don't see why not." 

Lip nods slowly, accepting her response with a suspicious gaze, wondering if it's the cult that has a weird effect on her. 

"But..." and of course there has to be 'but', "make sure that Ian and Mickey's thing is over," she advises, guiltily

He looks away, exasperated, trying not to argue or snap.

"Hey, hey. Look at me." she calls softly leaning even closer to the screen."I hate to be the one saying it, but I don't want you to be hurt." she smiles warmly. "Okay?" 

He gives one reluctant nod, still not wanting to give her a look. It's not like he is dating Mickey or claiming right on him. It's just Mickey is not that Mickey from Ian&Mickey. Ian is so deep in denial, and even a possibility of Mickey getting back with the stubborn prick that his brother is so actively portraying is painful. 

She must sense his mood falling, because she changes the trajectory by bubbling in an overly cheerful manner. "Although, what do I know? I came here to have a 'new beginning' just to end up in a fucking cult." There is a sharp inhale from aside again and she fully turns to them and goes on heatedly "Don't you have to be anywhere else? Huh? Go do some gut cleansing, and stop giving me your shit. Yeah, go! Go tell your inner child what a prude they all end up being!" she calls after sounds of chairs scratching the floor and quick distancing steps. "Fucking, hippies!" 

"So, you agree it's a cult?" he gives a smug grin.

"Yea-ah," she drawled, "I don't know who I was kidding."

"And what is the name of your "community"?" He doesn't hide the mockery in his voice. 

"You’re gonna troll me for the rest of my life, aren't you?" she huffs with a wry smile. 

"Until you come up with some even bigger shit." He agrees.

"It's 'the Children of the Sun'" he snickers making her smile wider. 

"It's like they didn't even want to try. How cliché can that be?" he laughs. 

"I know!" she joins him cracking. "I really have to go." She says later on, "Have to pack before they throw my shit away. Are you gonna be ok?" She asked with a concerned look.

"I'll be fine. And, hey, Fi. When you get out of that shithole, make sure you have both of your kidneys." She flips him off before ending the call. 

The afternoon he goes home, takes a shower, and finds himself in front of his closet with a deep frown between his brows. He doesn't recall ever being so baffled over pair of briefs. Lip is on the horns of a serious dilemma: should he or shouldn't he take extra underwear? He and Mickey didn't exactly talk about whether or not they will meet up today. The fact that today is Mickey's day off made things a little harder. Lip didn't have a problem inviting himself to his place, but maybe he should give him a little bit of space? Maybe it was too much of a shocking event for one day? 

Mickey resolves his internal strife between 'what he wants' and 'what is right' with one message. 

" _ **If you stop by a store on your way, and get the right shit, we can hit the 'home run' before the dawn. Maybe even more than once**_." 

With a grin he puts one pair of underwear into his bag, then takes thought and sends two more. At nine o'clock he was already knocking to Mickey's door. Mickey met him with a surprised grin. 

"I didn't expect you before midnight," he says pulling him inside. 

"Sue offered to close the restaurant herself." He leans to Mickey gripping his waist, catching his lips sucking into them. That's literally all he could think of the whole day. 

"Really?" He asks into him as he clings on his neck, thumbing the angle of his jaw. 

"No, I lied." He admits between kisses, "I had to beg her"

"Dude, you really have zero chill" he chuckles into his mouth. 

"Self-respect is overrated," he noses his jawline playfully, groping him harder. 

"How would you know?" He smirks and squeals as Lip shifts both of his hands to his butt and squeezes them sensitively.

"You hungry?" Mickey pulls away to take a better look at him. 

"Yeah, I could eat something." He admits. He flew over Mickey's flat at breakneck speed, food wasn't exactly his priority number one. 

"Good, hope you like lasagne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to mention that the cult described above is a combination of three or four cults that operated in my country since the 90th. I don't mean to insult or offend anyone's belives and practices.


	20. Chapter 20

**The end of October**

Mickey doesn't remember having so much sex since his late teen years. He doesn't remember  _ wanting _ to have so much sex since his late teen years. He's pretty sure that it's unhealthy to have that amount of hardcore sex. What if they die from having too much sex? Is it even possible to die from having too much sex? Not the worst way to go, but he is not kicking the bucket for it. 

Initially, Mickey didn't know what to expect from their hook-up. Okay, let's start that Mickey didn't expect to be hooking-up with Lip, in the first place. But then they did fuck...The thing is that sex with other people is already a tricky business, but when the guy is presumably straight and hasn’t had experience with any other dude, things can get even fuzzier. What he definitely didn't he expect was for the sex to be that good. True - the first time they did it, it was, as he knew it would be, amazing. They came across each other having the same exact shade of blue balls. Any tactile contact and little friction, was all it took for a release. But all the sex that followed after wasn't any less spectacular, if anything, it seemed more. 

Fuck is practically all they did for the first couple of weeks. As a goodbye gift, Sue let Lip have a week-long break. Mickey asked Scott to replace him for a week. Scott said 'no', not leaving Mickey any other choice, but to blackmail him, threatening to spill everything to Alexei about all the shit Scott told him behind his back. Milkoviches don't snitch, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Thanks to that they spend the week mostly naked, and all they were doing was fucking, eating, fucking, playing video games, fucking, smoking, and fucking some more.

Sex with Lip was something he wasn't prepared for, for many reasons. Mostly because it was always unpredictable. 

When they have the time, usually on weekends, they lie on the sofa lazily making out. Lip likes to take things slow, spends an eternity stretching Mickey out good and nice (“You are not digging for gold. Would you get on me, already?”), invoking sobs, hisses, and moans out of him. He could take him slowly, forcing to beg (demand! still not a bitch) for more. He locks his eyes with Mickey's, affectionately, and gives him deep, slow, sharp thrusts, sending shock waves through his body. Sometimes it's enough to make Mickey come. Other times he forcefully pushes Lip on his back and rides him into the mattress with all he got. Lip would lustfully watch him riding until he sees black spots. He clenches into Mickey's hips, fixing them in place, and hits into him like he is trying to eject Mickey's soul out of his body. Or he can take him from behind, biting and scratching him. Mickey likes when the Gallagher gets all rough and wild, and put those muscles of his into use. Lip doesn't hesitate to toss him around and drill him good and hard, holding him tightly, preventing him from being thrown away by the intensity of his moves. 

There is no place left where they didn't do it. Lip must have wiped the whole apartment solely with Mickey's body. There was a shower where they almost killed themselves manoeuvring on the slippery floor. Mickey mistakenly considered that the mission is officially impossible and the place stays un-desecrated, until Gallagher came the following day with a toolbox and ignoring Mickey's raised in a silent question eyebrow, he headed to the bathroom and installed bunches of shower grabs. They tested it right away and let's just say Mickey's appreciated Lip being a handyman. 

A week later, when they both had to go back to work, they had an agreement not to do it there, and even managed to keep their dicks in their pants. With mixed success, of course. But no one seemed to pay much attention to breathless sloppy looks, red swollen lips every now and then, so no biggie. This was their lives for over a month, now. 

This morning they were sitting in the kitchen in their underwear, or, more precisely in Mickey's boxers, cause the fucker didn't bother to get enough of them. They were eating breakfast next to each other. Well, Mickey was eating, Lip inhaled his food and was drinking his coffee. Mickey had his right leg on his lap, while the latter was unconsciously stroking his inner calf up and down. He was watching Mickey with a sated smile played on his face and Mickey wasn't as oblivious as he tried to portray about the fact that Lip does that thing a lot. Even before they started fucking, Mickey often would catch Lip eyeing him under his thick lashes with a fond smile on his face, and Mick would rather gouge his eyes with a spoon than admit, but deep down he liked it. A lot. 

"What?" He grumbles because even if he likes it, doesn't mean he can't be a son of a bitch. 

"Nothing," Lip weakly shakes his, the grin never leaves his face, "Why?" 

"You’ve been smiling at me for the past 10 minutes and I've no idea what are symptoms of a stroke." Lip's grin widens.

"Just thinking how fuckin' good it feels." he places his empty mug on the table. 

"What?" 

"You. Me." Lip provides thoughtfully. 

"Still can't fucking figure out how that shit happened. It's must be some fucking anomaly." He mumbles into his bowl. 

"Why?" Lip frowns, and Mickey lifts his puzzled eyes at him 

"You know? You. Me." He makes a clumsy gesture between them. 

"So?" Lip doesn't change in the face but he stops stroking his leg, and the grip on his ankle tightens. 

"Come on. You and me. With our history, and past relationship with each other's siblings. And with us just being us?" he raises his brows pointing out what he thinks is obvious, but Lip's expression says he is not having any of it. Mickey puts his bowl onto the table and inhales deeply. "You never had a feeling that we are like those perfect parallels? Like we were never actually meant to intersect. I don't know. It's like a mystery to me." He wants to skip this conversation already.

"The only mystery to me is that you remember anything from geometry, considering total times you cared to bring your ass to school." Lip mocks 

"Fuck you, I did my GRE in prison." He flips him off and tries to push his leg off his lap, but Lip pulls it closer to his abdomen. "I'm just saying that in any possible lives or scenarios where there is you and there is me, in any other alternative or parallel universe or whatever - we probably wouldn't be friends." He says decreasing his voice, because somehow that fictional fact he came up with, upsets him more than it should. Lip gets quiet for a while but then mutters under his breath. 

"Then I am glad that I end up being in this universe." 

  
  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

How the hell you know how much ice you put in this drink? Is it too much? Meh! Who cares. He puts a glass of bourbon on the tray. Who the hell drinks bourbon at 11 in the morning, anyway? Not like he judges, he would have glass or two if he didn't have a work to do. Since Sue abandoned this place for a better American dream, Mickey was responsible for drinks during his shifts. Mickey wasn't the best option, but Scott's enthusiasm cost them three bottles of Merlot and a bottle of Champagne Mickey would break his tongue pronouncing. Now he is not allowed to approach the bar closer than ten feet, which leads Mickey to be the only second-worst choice. The title that he carries with pride.

"Dad!" He hears a loud ringing voice before feeling a hard grip on his waist. He turns his head left to see a mop of blonde hair huddling into him tightly. 

"Hey, big man!" He turns in his grip hugging him back. "Look at you? You are a giant, man. What the hell you mother is feeding you with?" He feels boy's giggles resonating around his chest. 

"Real meal, not that shit you call food." Svetlana's commander voice follows right after. He lifts to see his ex-wife in all her spooky glory. 

"Dad, I study in the new school now. It's sooo big and clean. And we have a uniform that is so soft, touch it" Yev effaced with all the energy presumed at his age. He shoves his sleeve to Mickey and he strokes it, nodding appreciatively. 

"True! I don't think I've touched anything softer." He confirms.

"Yevgeny, what did I say about calling him, father?" Svetlana gives a strict look. The boy's shoulders fall. 

"You said not to" he responds obediently. Mickey's chest flinches. 

"Yev, go find a place where you want to sit." He smiles at his son. The boy runs into the hall, nearly tripping on his way. 

"Hey, he can call me anything he wants." He lowers his voice, not caring to hide the irritation in it. Svetlana is unbothered as she observes her surroundings.

"You ok he call 'father' now, but when you and crazy carrot top together again, you will forget about my son." her stiff look softens when their eyes meet."It will break his little heart." 

"Sveta, a shitload of time’s past since that. Me and Ian are a 'no case' and never, ever getting back together." She rolls her eyes, but he is not letting it go so easily."No, no. Look at me. We are not getting back together. And nothing changes that fact that Yev is my son. Okay?" she thoroughly studies every muscle on his face with her eyes squeezed but nods weakly. He knows that she is an amazing mother, and she wants the best for the kid. Her approval is everything. 

"Okay. Good." She says, charitably. "You were a ... how was the word?" She closes her eyes and flicks her fingers, thinking hard. "Tornados? Earthquakes?" 

"What? Natural disasters?" He looks at her with confusion stretched across his face. This woman was made to drive him nuts. 

"Yes, you were a disaster couple." She informs him. 

"You say that because he kidnapped your baby." He huffs. She pulls him by his vest. 

"No one steals my baby." Crazy-mama mode is activated. She then lets him go, wiping non-existent dust from his vest away, like some Bondiana villain. "But, you and him. Too much drama. No love. Always want to change each other." 

"That’s..." He wants to argue that but then thinks it over. "actually very accurate." He looks at her up and down."I need to talk to you in private."

"What about?" She crosses her arms on the chest. 

"About what?" 

"That's what I say" Yev comes back without his backpack. 

"No, that's... I'm not getting into this again! I paid for your classes and I see no difference. Your English is getting even worse. It makes no sense. I want my money back!" he doesn't, but he is annoyed and he needs something to pick on. 

"I decided that English classes is stupid. I took accounting classes instead." She throws him a challenging glare. Mickey blinks in surprise. 

"Really?" he asks suspiciously and looks at Yev."Really?" Yev makes quick, confirmative nods. The kid wouldn't lie. 

"Huh," they follow Yev to the table he has chosen."I didn't know you wanted to be a be an accountant" 

"I didn't. Our son studies in North Side now. It's a scholarship but we need money for clothes and books. Money that you give maybe not enough." Yev got a scholarship for a public boarding school. Before, Mickey didn't know that anything public can be prestigious, but here he is, a proud papa of a son who passed some high-end institution and studies with kids of rich businessmen and politicians. 

"I can send more. How much you need?" 

"No. Yev will be at school five days out of seven. I need to do something when he is not at home. I need a job. Good job." Her tone implies no arguments. 

"Okay," he raises his palms in a peace gesture. Under affect of the rare moment of sentiments he puts his hand around her shoulder, squeezes them lightly. "I'm glad you did it. Good for you, Mother Russia." She smiles at him, caressing his cheek. "But I still want a certificate as a proof, or I ain't taking no shit."


	21. Chapter 21

**The same day...**

"What did you want to talk about?" She is impatient looking at the garbage dumpster with disgust. 

Mickey looks suspiciously at the backdoor. They are smoking at the back of the restaurant. Mickey has dragged her further away from the entrance, cause he doesn't want anyone to hear the shit he is about to say. Doc said that he needs to talk to someone who would understand him, but he decided that he'd rather talk to someone who would understand Lip, and explain him what the fuck is going on in that curly head. The best choice was Svetlana. She has experience in unexpected conversions. 

Yev is in the staff room, doing his homework, like no Milkovich would. He is truly blessed. 

"You are bisexual right?" he lowers his voice leaning forward. 

"I don't know." She tilts her head, observing him. 

"What do you mean you don't know? You were into dicks and then suddenly were into pussies. If you ask me it is pretty clear." 

"I like people, I like sex. If you want to put a name on it, go ahead. But I like what I like." And what she says remotely reminds what Lips said in the kitchen a month ago. Honestly, they didn't discuss his sudden conversion furthermore. But doubts were floating inside Mickey's mind, not really affecting him but still refusing to leave. Sometimes he thinks that it's karma in Lip's face that came to punish him for treating Ian shit for the first three years of their relationships. 

"It's about a guy," She guesses, effortlessly. 

"Yeah." There is no point to hide, anyway. "So, there is a guy-"

"What it is his name?" She rudely interrupts him. 

"How does this fucking matter?" He pipes, rising his shoulder up by inertia. 

"It matters to me. How should I call him?" 

"You don't get to call him. This conversation is one time thing. We ain't talking about him later on." 

"You never know." She points out, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Fine, we will call him Mushroom Top. Happy now?" 

She raises her bow-shaped eyebrow, "Mushroom Top?"

"It's temporary," he flushes. He clears his voice, "We, you know? Me and Mushroom Top," he feels stupid but stubbornly uses the nickname, "Fuck and so on. But he has never done it with other guys and ... I don't know. It's fucking weird to me. I can't imagine wanting to stick into the woman. But he walks around unaffected by the fact that he is fucking dude. So, I'm not sure how all this shit works and it drives me nuts." he makes a 'head exploded' gesture. 

"Do you like him?" 

"No! Yes! It's complicated... and not the point."

This is the exact moment Lip decides to grace them with his presence. He walks out of the door with a cigarette pinched between his fingers, but then notices them and make his way to their direction. If he is surprised that they are smoking right next to the dumpster he doesn't show it anyhow. 

"Svetlana. It's nice to see ya here" He gives one of his charming smiles he usually holds for the most ass-tempered costumers. 

"Who are you?" whatever shit he is trying to sell, she is not buying it. 

"Lip?" She shakes her head: who?."Ian's older brother?" She furrows. "Uuuhm, I live next to V and Kev." She looks at Mickey puzzled. "You were at my sister’s wedding!" Lip exclaims, while she completely loses interest.

He looks at Mickey in search of help or explanation, he is not sure. Mickey doesn't react. The faster Lip gets what a climatic disaster his ex-wife is, the better it is. 

"Anyway, how do you like our Russian restaurant?" 

She looks at the building behind. 

"It's Russian?" She raises her eyebrows and looks actually surprised. 

"Uhm, yeah." Lip follows her gaze scratching his temple with the hand that is holding a half-burnt cigarette. She frowns looking back at Lip. 

"I think the only Russian in this restaurant is me," she declares, "and maybe that fat bear over there." She points two fingers with smoke in between towards the entrance, where Lyosha is not so discreetly spying on them. He clumsily looks away after being caught by three pairs of eyes. 

"He is not fat, he just big-boned" Mickey gets offended on behalf of his frenemy. 

"Dude is waiting for me. We gotta meet new suppliers today. Mickey can I talk to you in 10 minutes, please" he looks so tensed and fake, and his 'please' came out audibly with a British accent. Problem with Lip is that dude doesn't know how to play it cool and ends up overacting it. Certainly he didn't have Mickey's years of experience living double life behind enemy lines, but he tenses up where there is nothing to be tensed up about. He seems lost and doesn't know what to do with his hands. And his voice, Jesus. Or it'd too rough, or he mumbles something unclear, or sometimes it gets pitchy. So, no. The guy wouldn't make it work for his life, and if people in the restaurant didn't give a shit about anybody but themselves they would get themselves exposed twenty times by now. 

"Sure, man" he says looking at Sveta with a corner of his eyes. "I'll be in your office after ten minutes." 

"Ok," he nods, turns around and walks away, "Bye, Svetlana" 

"Bye, Mushroom Top," she says her farewells wryly taking Mickey out off guard. They didn't see Lip throwing puzzled look at her or how he and Alexei disappeared behind the iron door, too preoccupied tensely studying each other's face. Svetlana is the first one who breaks the silence. 

"You do know that there are other men besides Gallaghers, yes?" 

"So I was told." 

"Mickey!" She says with a tone she uses those rare times that she scolds Yev.

"I know. I fucking know. Whatever you gonna say, I've already thought it through." He interjects defensively. "We made everything clear. We are not dating. It's purely physical. All the shit has been taken care of." 

"So you told your sister?" She questions him.

........

"Okay, not all the shit has been taken care of" he admits reluctantly, "Do you think I should tell her?" 

"You know that you have to tell her!" 

She was right. He was coming up with a thousand and one reasons not to tell Mandy, but truth is that he was scared. He didn't know what her reaction would be. Of course, she is a happily married woman and not the person she was before. But it doesn't excuse him anyway or anyhow. She did a lot for him and he feels like a shit excuse for a brother. 

"Yeah, you are right." 

"Always," she says haughtily."About the thing that you asked. I don't think you should worry about he wants you or not. He was ogling you the whole time he was here." Mickey is not blushing, it's just hot out here. 

He catches Lip in his office when the latter is about to leave. He presses Mickey to the door and snogs shit out of him. 

"I have to go now, and I won't be able to come today. Too much work." He whispers in a husky voice, squeezing the material on the belly, feeling tempted to let his fingers go lower. 

"It's okay. I won't be home till late at night anyway. We will hang out with Yev and Svetlana. And later have to drop some crack to the regular." He says reaching for another kiss and not expecting at all Lip to pull back. 

"Regular?" He frowns. 

"Yeah, regular. It shouldn't take much time, but he lives an hour away from me." he is not sure why it’s that a big deal. It's not like Lip doesn't know about Mickey's side gig. 

"Your regular's name is Marcus?" He asks, emotionlessly. 

"What if it is?" He furrows brows, he doesn't know where this conversation is going but he doesn't like it already. 

"Nothing." He looks away, goes to his desk, silently collecting papers, and puts them into the messenger bag. He avoids looking at Mickey and Mickey is trying to think what he did wrong. Two minutes ago everything was perfect. He has no idea where this ice-cold attitude is coming from. 

"Is something wrong?" He tries watching Lip putting on his jacket. 

"No. Everything is good." He mutters under his nose. It's new territory in their relationships. It's usually Mickey the one who sulks, shows attitude, throws tantrums, and Lip is the one who masterly tames his temper. Now that they switched roles, what is he supposed to do? 

"Did I say something wrong," he hates that it comes out so erratic. 

"No. Everything is good." It's kinda creepy. Like some bat-shit scary scene from 'The Shining'. He doesn't know what is he dealing with, but this Lip is dead creepy. 

"Okay, you want me to bring you to change clothes. I think we have some-" 

"Are you gonna sleep with him?" he asks sharply with forced nonchalance in his voice. Lip still doesn't look at him being overly preoccupied with the consistency of his bag. That's what it's all about? Is he being territorial? Is it some alpha-male behaviour? Should he be mad? The alpha-male image doesn't really fit with Lip, and nervous strain is still out there. 

"Nah, man. With the amount of fuck we have, I physically can't do shit if I wanted to." He hopes his tone doesn't express the uneasiness he feels right now. Lip visibly relaxes. He nods weakly excepting his answer. With an aloof face he puts his bag on his shoulder and leaves the office without saying a word. Mickey looks around dumbfounded. What the fuck was that? Before he has a chance to get worked up, Lip pushes him against the wall harshly and kisses him so hard, Mickey doesn't feel his limbs. Voices form half-opened door get fuzzy until turn into one far distant ring in his ears. He pushes him painfully harder and Mickey feels his heels detaching the floor. Lip gently lets him go, his lips continuing brushing Mickey's. 

"I don't wanna know," he whispers into his mouth. "Next time you go there," smack on the lips, "just don't tell me." and disappeared again without a trace. Mickey stays there for a while touching his lips and wondering if that shit actually happened or his mind played a trick with him. He sighs all air out of his lungs. Nothing is simple with Lip Gallagher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big 'Thank you' to 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the last two chapters!


	22. Chapter 22

Mickey is not good at apologizing, or admitting his mistakes, or, let's be honest at communication in general. How can you possibly say to your sibling that you’re screwing their ex on a constant basis without getting shot for it? It's against the family code and the Milkovich code is no shit. What could he do to sugar-coat the delivery?

"Remember you complained that we have nothing in common? Good news. We do now." He thinks sarcastically. 

He’s not insane, just desperate. Maybe he could make her a gift? Like before when anytime he'd fucked up in front of Mandy, he'd pinch her some girl's shit from the store and toss it with the best bag of weed he could get. Plus-minus booze depending on how guilty he is. He can't do that now, for obvious reasons. Maybe compliments? Women like compliments. They like attention, right? And now the gift doesn't sound like a bad idea. 

If he was a decent person he would stop whatever they have. If he was a good person he wouldn't have started whatever they have in the first place. But the thing is that Lip is too deep under his skin and he wouldn't know how to tear himself away from him even if he wanted to. Good day, bad day, Mickey is just always looking forward seeing Lip, and to just be around him, because even being around him is enough to make it feel like he can breathe, and ask for more like a cat addicted to valerian root. His personal sort of dopamine. If he had his way Lip would always just be around or at least have him in his sight so he can steal sly glances every now and then. The air around him must be saturated with pheromones or some shit. How else could there be to explain that Mickey always is so quick to find his way to him like some loyal pet? It would be pathetic if it wasn't mutual. Good thing that it is mutual. 

"AAAAAGH" he lets out a desperate groan and drops his head to his hands. His brain hurts. He doesn't know how woman functions, okay? It's like rocket science to him. He could have to call Doctor Webber but she probably wouldn't give him a proper answer, anyway. And would get pissed for generalizing all women. Emily? Nah, Long Bangs is from the whole another planet. He'd call it luck if she can distinguish male from female. 

Lip. Of course, it's Lip. 

"Motherfucker was cruising around women whole his life." He thinks bitterly. He calls Lip, who is currently at work. He picks up immediately.

"What women like more than anything?" he asks before Lip could say a word. 

"Being right?" Mickey rolls his eyes so hard he's about to have a migraine. 

"No, genius. Not that." 

"Come on, dude." Mickey can say by his voice that he is smiling. "It all will be good. I'm sure that Mandy ain't gonna be mad." 

"You don't know that." Mickey argues "She can be so dramatic." 

"So it's a family trait?" 

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Lip is quick to step back."What's with a question about women?" 

"You know women better than I do. Isn't there any step-by-step approach in the handbook given to every straight man on the day of birth?" 

"Of the two of us, you are the one who was married to a woman." Lip points out. 

"Okay, Lip. The sooner you get that Svetlana is not a woman. The easier it would be for you to live in this world. She is a natural disaster. She's unpredictable, uncontrollable, unreasonable and you have to hole up in the basement till she calms down." He articulates. 

"Hole up in the basement, huh?" he chuckles.

"I don't want to talk about it." He says in an exaggerated aggrieved voice. 

"Mick, it’s all gonna be good." He says calmly, and Mickey is about to protest, but Lip doesn't let him put a word. "No. Listen to me. I promise you, okay? She ain't gonna be mad at you. If she’s gonna be mad at anybody, it's me. I ended our relationship on an ugly note and had the nerve to seduce her brother." 

"Seduce? Pfft, easy with the big words Casanova." Mickey huffs 

"What? Are you gonna deny that it's my over the top seduction skills paved my way into your pants?" 

"Over the top my ass! Me being horny and drunk, that's what paved your way into my pants." he can't hold his smile at the dork on the end the line. 

"It didn't hurt." He agrees, indulgently, "But I'll stick with my over the top seduction skills." 

What an idiot. Mickey checks the time. It's around 1 am. Lip is supposed to be at home in an hour or so. At home. Mickey never really wanted to share his space with any living soul, but now that Lip practically lives here, Mickey can't imagine this place without him, or his shit around the apartment. It's so damn hard to recall the time when Lip didn't so wilfully occupy his apartment and his mind.

"Everything will be fine. I promise." Lip's voice is soothing and even if he has his doubts, Mickey can't bring himself to decline his comfort. "You believe me?" 

"Yeah," he nods. "I do" 

"Good," he deeply inhales."Now that we’ve sorted out your shit. What are you wearing?" Mickey hangs up with no regret. 

He makes a video call to Mandy right after he hangs up on Lip, before changes his mind. He shit bricks waiting for her to accept the damn call. 

"Hey, giiiirl." His voice gets pitchy by default, with mannerism never existed. Mandy stares at him as if Mickey has grown a second head. "Look at you! You look gorgeous!" 

Mandy went rigid and Mickey starts to think that the video has frozen, but then she slowly looks back, takes her time to check her surroundings, and stares at Mickey again. She then leans closer to the screen and studies him. Mickey feels nervous and when he is nervous he jabbers. 

"Whatever you smoked I want that shit too." She declares dead serious. 

"Okay, no man is worth this humiliation." He sighs, shaking his head exasperatedly. "There is a thing I need to talk to you about." 

"What is it?" Malcolm appears from aside and sits on a couch behind Mandy. She leans back and crooks her arm around his leg.

"Hey, human pet." 

"Hey, Mickey." He greets back cheerfully, happy to be acknowledged.

"So, you remember I've mentioned that me and Lip are kind of friends?" 

"So you're calling to report about an update in your relationships?" She asks casually. 

"Wha...What?" 

"Men change their sexuality for you now? Do you carry a magic wand in your pants or something? You must really know how to give head." 

"How did you know?" 

"Don't underestimate my sources." she shakes her head.

"What sources? You have sources?" Svetlana? Mandy and Svetlana are gossiping now? 

"Hold your pants on. Your knight in shining armour called three days ago." Mickey's heart pumps hard in his chest. 

"He did?" Lip didn't say shit about talking to Mandy. 

"Yes. Came for a rescue for his princess I guess." she ridicules. "Apologized for all shit he's done intentionally and not. Took responsibility for all the crap that is between you two. Said that he is the one who took advantage of you and stole your chastity." She huffs as Malcolm massages her scalp.

"He did?" warmth, like lava, spreads in his chest. That motherfucker! That's where all the confidence came from. 

"Yeah." She shakes her head smiling at him. "The nerves have this guy. What an asshole!" 

"Asshole!" He confirms with Cheshire Cat's grin that refuses to leave his face. "Are you ok with that shit?" He says losing all the irreplaceable joy. 

"Yeah," she sighs, against her will. "Don't get me wrong. My brother and my ex! Again! Like real bombshell. But after thinking it through for a while and a good glass of wine-"

"A bottle" Malcolm corrects. 

"A bottle," she echoes. "A good bottle of wine-" 

"Tequila" he corrects again and squeals when he earns a pinch in his inner thigh. 

"Anyway, after deep thinking I understood that whatever I thought was between me and him, never really been there. I wanted it to be real so hard that it turned into an unhealthy obsession, leaving no room for real feelings. I don't like that time Mandy. I'm happy now. The rest doesn't matter." She wraps her hand around Malcolm's leg again, as he places a kiss on the top of her head. "But if you are planning on picking up men after me, you better stay away from Malcolm, or I'll study anatomy on your skeleton." 

"Ew! No!" It comes audibly louder than necessary. 

"For your information, I am a very tender lover," Malcolm tells, pouting. 

"That is exactly the fucking problem." Mickey huffs. 

"Hey, I'm good at sexual intercourse." He raises his brows. 

"Intercourse, huh?" He throws a fishy pry at Mandy. 

"You'd be surprised." she affirms, then mouths 'five times', and shows her palm spreading all fingers apart. 

"Ew! I don't have to know that! I mean, mazel tov, Malcolm. But, ew, Mandy!" 

Mickey checks the time. 2:38. Lip's supposed to be back by now. He picks up his phone and calls him. No answer. He repeats that several times, until he feels a tight knot of panic gets tied in his solar plexus. His mind starts producing all sorts of situations that may have happened to him with outcome one worse than others. It doesn't take long before he rushes out of the apartment, leaving his coat and races down the hall. On the periphery of his vision, he catches a blurry shape of Mrs. Perry who tries to catch his attention, calling and waving after him.

"Mickey! Have you seen Snowball?" He hears her echo following him down the stairs.

"Not now Mrs. P" 

He moves down faster. Mickey has a bad feeling. There is a reason why Milkoviches are so tenacious. Call it a sixth sense, gut feeling or primitive instincts, or whatever shit floats your boat. Right now, all of his senses, all that he is was screaming code red. 

Passing the hall he hears a loud mew coming from the corner of the hall right next to the red bike that never leaves that place.

"Mew!"

"Not now Snowball!" 

He sprints down the street towards the restaurant and prays, begs to be wrong. He speeds up and reaches the place in record time. Saliva in his mouth got thicker, lungs are on fire and ready to pop out of his rib cage any minute. He pulls a front door. Locked. He tries to look through the glass of the window but all he sees its thick black darkness. Mickey hits a door with desperation merging the madness and runs to the back door. He hopes so bad that it's all his sick imagination and that when he gets the asshole, Lip will be sitting there beaming at him fondly with the goofy smile, and will mock him again for being overdramatic, but will hold him tight by the waist because that's what Mickey needs right now. He turns to the alley, but when he turns to the alley he notices a dark silhouette lying lonely on the ground. Mickey vainly tries to gulp a thick lump in his throat. God, no. Fifteen feet away from the body he recognizes familiar blond curly mop of hair.

"Gallagher!" He yells with all that is left after his sprints to the body. "Gallagher!" and eight feet away from it he sees blood around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big-big-big appreciation to youthwillnotendure for beta reading the chapter!!!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate Mickey.

Mickey is sleeping with Marcus again. Lip is confident about it. The whole last week was a nightmare. Till now Lip has considered himself lucky with his shots in the dark taming his personal beast, Mickey Milkovich. But how many lucky strikes he could get away with? The answer - not many. 

It all started last week when he got beaten up by three teenage North Side gangster wannabes, who fancied themselves as some Italian mafia or something. Lip faced them before couple of time and successfully ignored. In their last visit, he was throwing out the garbage when they came out of the shadows holding a gun. Lip wasn't short-tempered but he may have an issue or two with anger management. Maybe more than he's ready to admit.

They said something, he said something, they said something more and he offered to go fuck themselves. They raised the gun, but he is a fucking South Sider from head to toe. He's must have lived around weapons from the crib. He grabs the kid's wrist with a gun in it and pulls it up in an effort to pull it away. The gun fires twice. One hits a dumpster with a clank, another hits one of Lip's offenders, he thinks by the shrill howl coming from aside. The third guy doesn't waste time and throws him onto the ground with a wild roar. Lip's head hits the asphalt and it hurts like a son of a bitch. He feels a shower of punches on his face, followed by another couple of kicks onto his ribs as the wounded guy was yelling his ass off in hysteria on the background, 

"I'm fucking bleeding! Why is there so much blood! I'm dying here, you fucking morons!" He wailed loudly trying to reach his friends' attention, while Lip weakly tries to cover his face and stomach, taking an embryo pose. The hits end as fast as they've begun.

Those morons freaked and runoff in a panic pulling their leaking blood friend along and didn't even try to empty the cash register that they initially came for. The sound of them running away into the darkness brawling with each other is the last thing he acknowledges before losing consciousness on the humid ground and the next thing he knows is Mickey shaking him by the shoulder and holding his head because he has no energy left to do it himself. He tries hard to focus on his frowned and poorly covering the worried face. There is a strong urge to lift his hand and iron the wrinkle between Mickey's brows, but his hands weight a ton each. He doesn't reach his brows and brushes down his lips instead. 

He didn't have a concussion but memories from that night are pretty blurry. He remembers Mickey touching him everywhere frantically, checking his body and gasping something about the blood on the ground that the whiny face guy must have left. 

"Not mine," he wants to say but it comes out as a raspy whisper. 

Mickey then asked what the fuck happened, ready to follow after those clowns when Lip briefly described an unpleasant scene that occurred to him ten minutes ago, slurring his speech. Lip put all the strength he had to catch his sleeve and hold it as tight as he could. He pleaded him not to go, because even though they were dumbass goons, they still had a gun and no brain cells whatsoever. Mickey hesitated for what seemed ages but nodded silently tearing Lips grip off his sleeve. He had to almost carry him home, holding him around the waist. Luckily he lived a stone throw away from their current location but still took twice as long as usual. Mickey blew out a half laughter half huff when he offered him his jacket, ‘cause the other guy was wearing only a thin shirt as if Lip made an appropriate joke. Lip hadn't been joking. Back at Mickey's home Lip vaguely recalls Mickey treating his wounds setting him on the couch and positioning himself in front of him on the old coffee table. The room was too light at first forcing him to squeeze his eyes and making him feel nauseous. Mickey turned it off leaving the light in the combined kitchen on. The light was falling on the left side Mickey's profile as he was treating Lips wounds with a frown that never left his face since the alley. He is beautiful. So beautiful that it hurts his eyes more than the light did. 

"You look like shit." He grumbles without sparing him a glance. 

"You should've seen the other guys," he gives him a lame smug. Mickey dropped his gaze at him, with the whole expression showing what he thinks about the shitty line.

The problem started when Mickey bombarded him with questions about the hassle back in the alley. Lip reluctantly admitted that those pseudo mobsters had visited before and he thought that it wasn't a big deal. Mickey's body went stiff in a second. He got pissed, lip could tell. Not 'bitching around about all annoying shit in the radius of a mile' pissed, but 'pissed' pissed. And although he was clearly mad, he was very tight on words, pressing cotton wool way too hard with a flat face and pressed in a tight line lips, ignoring Lip's painful groans. Then the weird thing happened. Lip still is not certain what exactly happened or precise moment course changed. He remembers saying something like: "Everything is under control and there is nothing you should worry about." Which is not the most outrageous thing to say, or so he thought. But Mickey's whole body got still once again but for another reason. He tore his gaze and didn't look at Lip when he said.

"You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you." 

Even under his dizzy haze, he could feel a full range of pain that caused his words. It hurt more than pain from injuries and his bruised ego for being beaten up by a couple of kids. It hurt more than he'd imagined, and for the first time, he questioned this whole thing. Maybe he let Mickey Milkovich get too close to himself. Maybe he's deliberately leading himself to inevitable pain and even possible heartbreak. And if this just a trial of what was gonna eventually happen, Lip is so fucking screwed. 

"Yeah," he hears himself saying weakly expressionless. "How could I assume that?" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

He vainly tries to talk to Mickey during the week just to be waved off by the other guy. Milkovich became very detached and unflappable, answering shortly and never initiating any conversation, which is uncanny. Mickey has a very small emotional capacity storage, that's why he is overly vocal about, well, everything. But now he is always out of space and Lip wishes he knew what's in his head that steals Mickey away from him over and over again. He just knows this shit started that evening. 

_ "You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you."  _

Mickey is acting weird that's for sure. He looks exhausted and charged more than usual. He avoids looking at Lip or talking to him. Lip tries to shake him off, but the more he tries the bigger wall Mickey builds. Mickey can't look at him. He literally can't look at him for more than 3 seconds. At some point it hit Lip. It's because of the camouflage his face turned into. The bruises and cuts were still raw and fresh and probably were hard to look at. Lip feels both relieve and agitated by the discovery. Is there some deep meaning behind Mickey not being able to look at him? He decides to take give both of them space anyway, excusing himself by saying that he wants to spend more time at home to redeem days Liam didn't see his eldest brother. He ignored relief on Mickey's face that gashed him deeper in the heart.

Since he spent more time at home he inevitably runs into Ian at the entrance to the bathroom when the latter was coming out of it. They have one or two encounters every now and then, so it wasn't a big deal. At least at first, it wasn't. Ian made his regular 'I don't give a fuck' face when he noticed Lip that instantly changed as he widened his eye and blinked at him studying his face and with growing perplexity on his expression. Lip with delay understands his confusion. He somehow still has a hard time remembering that his face looks all bruised and battered. After shocking a whole hall full of customers he learned not to go out of his office unless it's utterly necessary.

But now when his brother is studying him with an expression bordering with something close to terror Lip thinks about Mickey's weird reaction again. Was it reasonable after all? 

_ "You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you."  _

He entered the bathroom and with no hesitation closes the door in front of Ian before he learned how to speak and started asking questions. He flushes his face with ice-cold water but feels no relief. He reached a new level of misery when he remembers how Mickey cared about Ian. Lip is not idiot even though it's hard to say by his behaviour for the past half of a year. He knows he could never compare whatever Mickey had with Ian, and could never ... what? Ask for more? Want something more? To be something more? He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. For all he knows, he wishes he didn't witness Mickey flip the world upside down for Ian, and maybe he could pretend that all he has with Mickey is all that is on the table. He pulls out a cigarette, ignoring Carl's bang on the door and ‘I need to fucking pee, get out' he drags a smoke deep down into his lungs. To get pissed drunk is getting more and more tempting. Since he met Mickey it the second time in five years he feels like he's ready to drop everything and get pissed drunk in the nearest place that holds booze, which is ironic because when he is with Mickey he doesn't feel about it at all. His life never has felt so full. 

_ "You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you."  _

Lip doesn't know for sure what exactly might have caused so rapid changes in Mickey and deep inside he hopes that there's nothing, that it's all temporarily, but he can't help but feel that it's just a beginning of the end. He starts to suspect that something is off when Mickey walks around like a zombie, which he does when they spend all night fucking and go to work entirely exhausted, unable to spend five minutes without yawning. They weren't fucking now, because of Lip's rib injury and Mickey's more than usually weird behaviour. What does he do at night? Then he catches him lively talking to someone on the phone and turning it off instantly after noticing Lip, saying his stingy 'goodbyes' to the person on the other line and avoiding his gaze the entire time. There were other small hints like Mickey coming wearing the same clothes several days in a row, which is odd even for him considering how close he lives. Like he wanted him to see it. Once he accidentally picked up Mick's bag from the floor which turned out to be unusually heavy. Lip is not sure how this applied to the whole situation but he concluded that Mickey doesn't sleep at home, which brings us to Marcus. He knows he said he didn't want to know when Mickey goes to see him, which he solemnly regrets doing. The dumbest decision of his life. 

He can't ask Mickey directly. He will ignore his question and won't tell him or won't tell him and will punch him. Either way, he won't tell him. 

That' how Lip finds himself out stalking down Mickey's ass on his way down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge appreciation to youthwillnotendure for beta-reading the chapter!!!


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip follows (stalks) Mickey and things get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Explicit description of assault towards the other people.

  
  


It's cool outside but still sunny. November this year is not as severely cold as usual. News are screaming about Global Warming, but the whole South Side walks on the air. Try to heat the whole house for the winter while living from paycheck to paycheck. 

Lip finds his way walking behind Mickey around 50 feet away, not for a second tearing his eyes from him. He walks at a determined, quick almost angry pace, not looking around at all, which plays into Lip's hands because there's no way he could explain his presence. Luckily, he doesn't take an L or a taxi. He just walks and walks, turning around the corner from time to time 

At the crossroads, Mickey stops with other people waiting for the walk signal to light green. Lip lines up so close behind him, he can practically smell him. He studies his forehead and fights an urge to lean closer and closer to consume more of his scent with every inch. He missed him. He really did. It's been only a week since he stood that close to him, but it seems like a lot longer. Lip hates how his thoughts are spinning around this guy in front of him 24/7 without breaks, holidays, or sick leaves. He dreams about him at night just to see him again, during the day and thinks about him in between. Wash, rinse, repeat. Lip is not sure looking back if he would have hired him if he knew what a snowball effect will be in his life Mickey Milkovich, mercilessly destroying years of stoicism and sanity he built with one sentence. 

**"You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you."**

He can't throw it out of his head. It comes back like a fucking boomerang, each time hitting harder than then previous. No one should be allowed to have so much power over another person.

As they walk again- Mickey in front, Lip behind- he feels that they are close to the destination-whatever place that is. Mickey checks up something on his phone, probably the route, verifying with the street they are on. The fact makes him feel more restless. He is about to lose Mickey from his sight and he has to watch him leaving his side into Marcus' embrace. Anxiety combined with anger with rapid waves goes down his spine making him want to shiver. He clenches his fists inside the pocket of his hoodie instead. His senses, mind, instincts, his entire being, demands to grab him by the shoulder, drag him back home, and put him on the leash if it's required, away from all Ians, Marcuses, or anyone. The impulse is strong, his fingers are itching in temptation, seeing him just out of his reach, undisturbed walking down the street, unaware of Lip's agony. 

He doesn't know why he is doing it. He just wanted to see it with his own eyes and...and then what? Not like he is in a position to bring any claims. Then what the fuck did he forget in here? What should he do? Burst into the apartment with accusations he has no rights for? But no matter how unreasonably ridiculous his behavior is, he keeps following him with a short lag and persistent diligence like he's under a spell. It's not a matter of choice now. He couldn't walk away even if he wanted to. 

Mickey jogs across the road, throwing short glances right and left. Without speeding down he jogs through the opened door of the bar. Lip freezes on the other side of the road with his feet glued to the ground. It's a bar. Huh. Dirty brick wall with all shades of stains, the old green neon sign is blinking with a buzzing noise and heavy metal door that has seen better days. Yes, it's a bar. He entered the bar. Lip blows out air sharply, clenching his fist in his hair, and think, think, think. He tries to line up the facts in his head. Where is the miscount? 

Lip didn't sleep properly for the past two days, he's been working too much, and all the shit that fell on him in one week was a lot to handle. Exhausted, sleep-deprived, and agitated he couldn't' produce one half of a mildly bright idea to save his life. 

Mickey has mentioned that he and Marcus meet at his place and you don't sell drugs in an open public place. Unless...unless it's not about drugs. What if it's not just a hook up anymore? What if they passed that stage and it's something more serious, like...like a date? Everything inside Lip flips over. He frankly remembers offering Mickey to settle his love life. He bites his lip in indignation. If it's true, why didn't he tell him? They are friends after all. Was he afraid to hurt his little heart? How annoying. Lip huffs exasperatedly. Is that why he was avoiding him? Lip places his elbows on the dusty roof of the nearest car and leans the whole of his weight on it, brushing his hair with his fingers back and forth in frustration. He feels worn out.

........

If it's true, what options does he have? Sooner or later Mickey will corner him and tell him that they should stop having sex because he is getting into a relationship. Lip doesn't want to face it. He doesn't want to stop. But more than anything he wants Mickey to be happy because he deserves it more than anyone. And if he likes this stupid model-looking dude with a stupid name (Marcus is a stupid name), so be it. 

Lip can step back, go lick his wounds, and come back with an almost believable 'I'm happy for you, man' face. If it's a date, he would never want to ruin it for him. He does his best to ignore the iron-hard clench in his chest and ton weighted pressure in his belly. He is going to pull the best version of selflessness he can dig out of himself. Because that is a good thing to do. Because that is the right thing to do. 

With a heavy heart, he tears his body away from the car and slowly steps back towards the direction he just came from. His legs feel like jelly and weigh tons when he walks. He makes five short steps at most before twisting around on his heels and more vigorously moves towards the bar with a clear determination on his face. Fuck righteousness! Fuck selflessness! Fuck it all! Lip Gallagher is known for being a selfish, narcissistic asshole. He gives a zero shit what this Marcus dude thinks he is. He is going to fix that prick's pretty face. He ignores a red sedan that almost hits him with a loud hoot when he crosses the road and reaches the door of the bar. He is about to enter it when he hears loud male voices, one of which is definitely Mickey's.

"I have to warn you, gentlemen, that I've seen all Steven fucking Seagal movies. You better watch out!" He slurs drunkenly, which makes no sense. He couldn't be there for more than 10 minutes. 

"Who the fuck is Steven Seagal?" Quietly asks one of the guys, whose voice sounds too young to be allowed in this bar. His question remains unanswered and Lip for a split of a second thinks that voice seems familiar but he pushes the thought to the back of his mind. At this age, they all sound the same. 

Lip twists around on time to hide his face from the group who passes him by without sparing a glance and disappearing around the corner. Who the hell are these guys? He quietly follows their way hiding behind the dumpster standing right next to them. It's a late afternoon, and dark gloom is imperceptibly pervading the surrounding. There are four figures standing partly shadowed and the atmosphere is far from friendly. The noise of the streets drown down their conversation, but he can tell that Mickey is the one who is talking his ass off. 'Typical' Lip thinks, annoyed. Three guys are not so subtly trying to crowd him, while he is swaying right and left looking real drunk with his hands clung around his backpack tightly. What the fuck has he got himself into? 

  
  


Before Lip can do anything about it, the tallest guy evidently hard pushes Mickey, but instead of falling back as a drunk person would do, he speedily shoves his hand into the bag and shakes the bag off of what turns out to be a bat. Without a blink of an eye, he pushes the first guy towards the wall holding him in a hard grip by the collar, kicks the second onto the stomach, and hits the last one with a bat on his face. Lip has to admit, he forgot that Mickey is Milkovich and Milkovich, not somebody you mess with. Lip knows it from the experience. He doesn't know what those guys did, but they are dead meat. This whole shit happened in a split of a second, leaving Lip just standing there, leaning closer to this funky dumpster, not to miss a thing. It doesn't seem that he needs help, cause Mickey has his shit controlled. At least right until two more guys hurriedly run past Lip, barely brushing him by the shoulder and dash onto Mickey forcing him to fall on the ground. The three of them get grip on themselves pretty fast and already got back on their feet, and by the time two new guys pinched him to the ground. Without losing a time they crowd around Mickey kicking him on the stomach, making him drop his bat to cover his head. Bat with a clink falls on the ground rolling down to Lip's feet. 

The sound of the streets, the shouts of these assholes, and Lip's heartbeat turn into one pitchy ring. One pitchy ring that has to drown in the rest of the world, narrowing all Lip's focus to one particular sight. **And he sees red. And he is ready to murder. And make them regret being born. **

He reaches the company in five steady steps, picking the bat on his way and just slums with all he has everything in his reach, making them fall right and left. He doesn't process or analyze his actions. He just sees the target and acts upon it. He hears yells, groans, and what might be a sound of cracking bones, which is far from his concern at the moment. When the space around Mickey is clean he bends down, grabs him by the collar of his jacket, and pushes him against the wall right next to the dumpster, almost sealing him onto it. 

"Lip?" He hears soft bewildered gasp form Mickey but he turns his back at him too fast to see his face.

"Who the fuck is this guy?!" 

"Fuck if I know! Pete is not reacting and Dale's head is bleeding" there is a hysteric note that Lip finds familiar. He looks to each in the group with more attentive eyes. And, oh. He knows them. They are covered with blood and dirt, but yeah. He recognizes at least two of them. Those pathetic excuses for criminals, who beat the shit out of him the prior week. Now do the same with Mickey. His fist around the bat tightens up as he goes back on them with a double severity. 

Like possessed he just loses himself in punches, kicks, hits, and even bites. He feels surprisingly good right now, like all the pain, sorrow, hate, and rage accumulated inside him over the years are releasing with each strike he makes. It's not just about them anymore. It's about each time he failed to protect himself and the people he cared about. Each time he retreated instead of taking an action, for the time he remained silent when the right thing would be to use his voice. 

"Get your guard dog fuck off me!" The guy with a beanie, the one who carried the gun a week ago, yells as Lip straddles him and throws punch after punch on his face. His fist gets slick with blood and skin under his hits is swelling. He doesn't stop. He won't stop. 

"Dude, tell him to stop! He will kill him!" it's a bare noise in the background for him. Lip is far too gone. The adrenaline running in his blood is so ecstatic, making him feel so alive, so loose. He feels like himself again. That version of him who knew what he was doing with his life, who knew where he was going and what he was doing. 

There are strong arms tangled around him, pulling him back. One flexes around his waist, another reaches him over his right shoulder, both hands meeting somewhere on the middle of his chest. He wants to fight back, he wants to elbow him and break his face. He tries to twist his way out of the iron capture, while arms around him tighten up. 

"Shhh, tough guy. Chill." He hears the murmur of Mickey's breathy voice right next to his left ear. 

"You will kill him if you keep it up. We don't want to get your ass thrown to the prison, do we?" 

Lip stops twisting around his arms and falls onto his chest breathing fiercely, as another guy braces him closer.

"Pretty face of yours wouldn't live throughout a day in the joint" he whispers nonsense into his ear. Lip can say that he is smiling. But he is still rock tensed, and he feels his limbs are shaking, but the soothing voice and thumbs caressing his chest do their part until the two of those dickheads rush to their side to drag their half-conscious friend away. Lip instantly stiffens up, stretching his hands with a blind rage in vain attempt to get them, twisting around Mickey once again. 

"Shh-shh. No, dude, come on. Let them. We don't need them." Mickey pulls him back into an iron grip, nuzzling his neck and pressing his lips to it, but not really kissing. Lip leans back again against his touch, still panting aggressively with his hands are clenched into fists on both sides of Mickey's thighs. 

They both ignore the echoing "Psycho sons of a bitches!" and hurriedly distancing steps. 

Mickey keeps murmuring calming sentiments, lips brushing his ear lightly, while hot breath flatters his earlobe. He nuzzles onto Lip's nape sending electricity through his spine, making him want to shiver in familiar anticipation. 

"Good. You did good" inch by inch his muscles relax, his breath slowly stabilizes, coming out shaky with each exhale. He doesn't know how long they sit there on wet dirty ground, minutes or hours, but at some point when his body turns soft and pliant, and he feels cold air digging under his skin, only then Lip can fully appreciate Mickey's fire heat body pressed to him from behind. He melts under the radiating warmth of it, under soft touches. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)Lip calls assaulters 'teenagers', but they are all 18 years old and above. 
> 
> 2) I didn't express it explicitly (my bad), but Lip is going through a lot of stress with his work, Ian and sobriety. If I were a better author I'd know how to attach it, but we have what we have. That's how I justify his logic, I guess. 
> 
> 3) Huge thank you to 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the chapter!!!


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the same day, the same alley, the same people

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter was hard to write for many reasons and I won't be surprised if it'd be hard to read.

There is a long silence stretched between them. They are going to fight. It's obvious by the acute tension floating in the air and uncovered glare they hold on each other. It's unavoidable, that's probably why none of them rushes to start talking. Instead, they take time to study one another under a single lamp illuminating the whole space around them. 

Mickey has one small bruise on the cheekbone and one large that starts on his neck and disappears underneath his shirt. There is a deep frown between his brows as his eyes run over his own body mirroring his concerned expression. Lip knows he looks like a piece of shit. New injuries above existing won't bring him a Mr. Universe title, but still, the almost obsessively fixed look Mickey gives him, makes him want to wiggle with discomfort. His knuckles are bleeding and itching, and he suspects that he is still under an adrenaline rush, and doesn't feel half of all the pain he is going to feel at its best the very following day. 

"So?" Mickey starts 

"So?" He echoes 

"What the fuck did you forget in here?" 

"Wanted to ask you the same thing." 

"Oh, Fuck you!" he predictably blows first. 

"Is this why you were acting so weird the whole week?" 

"That's none of your problems. Mind your own fucking business." He grumbles, but Lip sees a nervous gulp he makes. 

"You don't say." he huffs, "I recognized them, Mickey. So, give it a rest." Mickey changes in the face.

They both fall into another round of silence. Lip expects explanations he thinks he deserves and Mickey...Mickey just being Mickey not giving up easily when things are already far too complicated.

"So, what is it?" Lips ask when it's obvious that the other guy is not giving him anything. Mickey doesn't respond but his body goes still, like if it's physically hard for him to be there, in that position. He goes into a full defensive mode. "You say that you don't care about me and then, what? You come to defend my honor?", still no reaction."Behind my back?" 

"I had everything under control before you came." He mutters through the clenched teeth. 

"Oh, really. Cause it didn't seem like it at all!" 

"Oh, really. Cause you handled the hassle with them so fucking gracefully." At least he is looking at him now. 

Lip can't say anything to that. He doesn't feel that he is being a hypocrite or anything like that, because no matter how many times he gets beaten up, Mickey is not allowed. No exception. End of discussion. 

"Do you fucking realize that something irreparable would have happened if I didn't stalk your stubborn ass down. I was this close to leaving." He makes a small space between his fingers."Lucky for you I'm a selfish, narcissistic asshole."

Mickey makes 'what does it have to do with anything' face, but chooses not to comment on that, and instead, he says, "So, you do admit that you were stalking me?" 

"Of fucking course I did!" he exclaims exasperated. 

"You are a nosy fucking snooper!" Mickey calls in disbelief.

"Lucky for you!" He snaps back

"Listen, I had a goddamned plan, ok?" He pulls out a taser behind his back, presses the button, and with a buzzing sound sending a blue string of lights between the probes."I just didn't expect that there'd be more of them." He mumbles at the end hiding his eyes, looking slightly ashamed. 

God, more than anything he wants to pull his stubborn ass, press him against that dirty wall and kiss the shit out of him. His adrenaline spiked body is craving for his touch, for his scent, for the moans he makes. Lip rubbed his face, leaving blood and dirt stains behind. 

"Why?" He asks quietly, but in the dead silence of the alley, it thunders out loud. Mickey expressively looks aside with pursed lips and deep scowl, but Lip is having none of it. In three big steps, he decreases the distance between them. 

"Why, Mick?" He insists on putting more pressure into his voice this time.

"Tell me why. 'You are wrong if you think that I'm worried about you' that's what you told me." Mickey studies the ground with a scowl never leaving his face. He doesn't change in the face but his chest goes up and down as he vigorously exhales through his nose like an angry bull. He makes a step back, distancing and not just physically. 

Lip has enough of this shit. He surprises both of them pushing Mickey by the shoulder. 

"Why?" 

"Stop" he growls, holding himself from getting thrown away.  
  
"What? You don't like it?" He says with a mocking surprise. He pushes him again, now with more pressure 

"Lip, cut it!"

"Then tell me why, and I'll stop." He doesn't push him but comes so close, their noses almost touch as he tries to catch Mickey's gaze, while the latter averts it with a double effort. "Hm? You said you don't give a shit about me." He tried not to sound accusatory but failed to hide hurt notes.

Then without a warning, he pushes Lip, making him take a step back. 

"I lied! Okay?" he shouts with another push that doesn't wait to follow, "I fucking lied. What was I supposed to say? That I lost my shit watching you lying in the fucking pool of blood? That for a brief fucking moment I thought I that you are taking a dust nap? That I would never see you again?"

Lip's heart pounds and his breath gets caught and something like a humiliating light of hope appears in his chest.

"YES! That's what you're supposed to say. Not avoid me the whole week. You couldn't even look at me!" 

"How fucking could I?!" He shouts back, "Every time I looked at you I couldn't help but think which bruise could have been prevented if I hung up on Mandy ten minutes earlier, the one on the cheek? Or maybe under your eye? Huh? or ...or which cut wouldn't be there if I ran faster? The one on your eyebrow? Or on your lip?" 

"That wasn't your fault," Lip whispers taken aback by the confession. 

"Oh, I know that!" He laughs humorlessly. "That's your fault. Group of thugs is threatening you and instead of telling someone, anyone, you decide to ignore it. You are a fucking South Side. Even your headless rose-colored brother would know better than that" Ian is the last person he wants to hear about. "No, you wanted to hear it, now listen. Who do you think you are? Rambo?" He scolds loudly, getting his face closer inch by inch. 

"Fuck you!" Lip takes his turn to push him, "I was handling it!"

"That's the fucking problem!" Mickey pushes him back. "You always handling everything, but you don't fucking have to! You don't fucking have to carry the world on your shoulders. Here is the news: the sky won't fall down if you ask for help! How long has it been since Sue has left? Hm? Two fucking months! And you didn't hire anybody, bussing your back off. Literally! Stop working yourself to death, stop trying to fix everything on your own. How long do you think you can carry on in the same way? You know nothing about restaurants or Russians. Go ask your fucking Russian boss for advice or I don't know, ask Svetlana to help you. But for God's sake just stop it!" 

His eye is shiny but he doesn't tear them from Lip, his red from anger, and his jaw is tightly clenched. Lip feels whacked. Mickey doesn't understand. He doesn't get what a misery his life is. Everything he touches turns into the ashes. He cannot let more people down. His hands slowly find their way to Mickey's face.

"No, don't touch me." He makes a very poor effort to escape his touch. 

"Look at me. I can't let people take credit for my failures." He says looking right into his eyes. 

"That's not for you to decide. And what failure? That's not how it fucking works-" 

"Mickey, I am the failure." He takes two steps back and turns away to get it together before he can continue.   
"My whole life I was confident that the whole world was made for me. That I'm the chosen fucking one. Centre of the fucking Solar System! What an arrogant asshole, right?" He lets out a dry laugh and drops his hands to his sides."The more painful was the fall" large drops of tears are streaming from his eye and his voice is shaky. "It seems like a lifetime ago. It felt so different. I knew what I wanted, so I just acted towards what I wanted. As simple as that. But nothing is simple when you're a Gallagher. I was never meant to make it. The whole of my life was a big fucking lie. An illusion. It took one family trait to see how weak I actually am. So I failed. And then I failed again, and then again. And Fuck!" He shouts turning away, not being able to cope with the pressure. His hands are shaking and he clenches them into his hair. "And then I failed so bad, that I lost everything. Turned out without my dreams and big ambitions, I'm nothing. Nobody. Or worse," he forces a laugh, "I'm Frank. I became a person who I despised the most. And that's all not the worst part. The worst part is that I let so many people down. People who believed in me. I just-" He sobs, and the corner of his mouth goes down against his will."I just let them... Now I don't want anything." he takes a pause to catch his breath. "You know how fucked up I am?!" His voice is shaky. 

Mickey doesn't interrupt the monologue caused by his emotional outburst. He doesn't respond or even reacts. Perhaps, he regrets it all. Fuck. He didn't sign up for an emotionally inadequate boozer, who can't hold his shit together. God, Mickey must think he is a loser. And Lip wouldn't even blame him. 

Mickey slowly approaches him, not tearing his eyes from Lip. He cautiously, as a trial, lifts his hands up to his face, but before he can reach it Lip willingly leans towards his touch. His cold hands against his hot face feel electrifying. Feels like he's been saved. 

"You're... you're. Good God. There are so many things that you deserve to hear, but I'm unable to say" he leaned forward pressing their foreheads, shutting his eyes, letting tears out. "You...You are so fucking incredible. Now. Then. Always. You have even no idea how amazing you are." he whispers into his mouth, while Lip watches him fascinated. "You are so many things, Lip Gallagher. You are anything." he finds his lips and softly kisses them."Anything but failure. You are everything." 

Maybe it's the way he says it. Quietly, like a secret, he is sharing between the two. Maybe because he is crying. Crying because of him, because of Lip. Maybe because he is so addicted to the man in front of him, but for the spare of a second Lip lets himself believe him and kisses him back with an increasingly growing eagerness, letting Mickey's lips do all the magic. 

________________________________________________________________

  
Lying on the bed the very next morning Lip had contradictory feelings. His body was in pain, he couldn't turn around without groaning, and he suspects he has all shades of blue on his body, but he also feels...satisfied? Whatever thing happened in the alley, it shook off a big burden that was pulling him towards the ground. He doesn't remember feeling so light. 

He hurries his face into the pillow and lets himself drown in the scent of mint shampoo, deodorant, cigarette smoke, and the sun. It feels so easy to lose yourself in this scent and drift off into sweet oblivion. He notices the grip of the bat stuck out of the bag, laying next to the bed. He takes it out to take a better look. He is far too familiar with this bat not to recognize it. What an irony. He defends himself with the bat that brought him most of his injuries.

Mickey enters the bedroom with his phone on the right hand, wearing boxers on the nude body. He sees Lip studying the bat.

"Old friends reunion?" He smirks, laying next to him leaning to the headboard. 

"You can say that." He smiles, "this shit has enough of my DNA to recreate my clone" he jokes. Mickey doesn't react and he turns his head to see his face. The guy's face is red, his lips are apart, eyes are dilated and he is frantically blinking. He is totally aroused. "Are you picturing a threesome with me and my clone?" He jokingly accuses. 

Mickey gapes at him, while the red from his face spreads to his neck and ear. 

"What?! No-o! What?!" it came up pitchy and forced. Lip bursts into laughter. God, he really missed this adorable side of his. 

"Come 'ere" he says, spreading hands. 

Mickey makes a pfft sound and rolls his eyes for the protocol, but Lip knows better. He snuggles into the hug, nosing his neck, with the corner of his mouth threatening to go up any moment. 

"Those guys..."Lip asks, "how did you find them?" 

Mickey looks up at him not understanding the question right away. 

"Ah, them?" He drops his head back. "How many teenage dumbasses do you think walk around with an illegal gun in the pocket?" He yawns, "I was told that they hang out in that bar all the time, I was doing the same last several nights to 'accidentally' run into them, but their skinny asses were nowhere around. Until yesterday." 

That's why he was so exhausted at work. That's why he didn't change his clothes and didn't sleep at home. 

Du-dum, du-dum! His heart pounds resonating loudly in his head. He wonders if Mickey can hear it. He wonders if the whole building can hear it. Just looking at the man on his hands with heavy eyelids, ready to drift off any moment, his heart is ready to break his rib cage and find its way towards him. 

"Lip," he calls half asleep. 

"Yeah," 

"I actually was thinking about a threesome with you and your clone," he confesses 

"Yeah, I know" he grins holding him closer. 

"Mhm. How?" 

Lip nuzzles into his hair taking the scent of mint shampoo, deodorant, cigarette smoke, and the sun. 

"Because I know you," he mutters, even though he knows that Mickey is far asleep to hear. 

Lip doesn't own Mickey Milkovich. He doesn't know what true happiness is. But right now he feels something very resembling it. _**Because, after all, he cares.**_ He doesn't know what true happiness is. But he suspects that it smells like _**mint shampoo, deodorant, cigarette smoke, and the sun**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the chapter!!!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip is trying to find his way to deal with his issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 1/3 of the chapter, which is still in the process of writing, but I decided to post it anyway, since the rest of the chapter is freaking long.

**The Middle of November**

Sitting in the office surrounded by piles of papers, with tons of emails in the mailbox, and the answering machine never stopped blinking red this week, Lip thought that it wasn't a very productive week for him. He wasn't very focused and even when he wasn't chasing Mickey's ass around the city, he was too distracted to finish any work. Was Mickey right though? Was he complicating things for no reason? It wasn't that Lip didn't want any help, it's just he had a hard time making a choice in general, which sucks because all his job was about making choices. What food to serve, what line of wines to order, and what amount, what marketing strategy to implement, what interior design to choose? And that's just the basics. There are tons of shit he has to deal with on a day to day basis that he'd love to outsource but he has to **choose** the person who can do it and it's just all the same pain in the ass.  
  
And Lip might be a bit of a perfectionist in the worst way possible. He doesn't trust other people's competency, partly because he was the smartest person in the room for the big portion of his life. Old habits die hard, they say. But it's not like he is some control freak. Right? Right? He just happens to know better in the majority of time, which is why he likes to make sure that things are the way he wants them to be. Okay, he does have a problem.   
  
He calls Fiona. Mainly because lately, he finds her advice more helpful than not.   
  
"Yes," she says before he finishes his sentence.   
"What? Really?"   
"Oh, yeah. Always want it your way. And God forbid if someone helps. 'My way or highway' attitude got you your ass kicked at school more often than any other kid."   
"I thought me being asshole got me my ass kicked."  
"Yeah, that too" she gives him a wide grin."It wasn't a problem at the beginning, but there were moments when you refused to accept help when you obviously needed one."   
  
He frowns, "I guess I thought that I can handle shit."   
  
"No. You thought that you have to handle shit. Lip you don't have to push yourself 100% all the time. It's ok to suck, ya know. Banging Mickey Milkovich you should know that it's not that bad." She says giving him a shit-eating grin.   
  
"Fuck you!" he flips her off, laughing.   
  
She sighs, giving him the 'I know you' look. "It shouldn't be surprising considering what chaos we grew up in. You had to become a man in the family way too early."   
  
"You don't seem to have the same issues."   
  
"Because I had the man in our family I always could rely on."   
  
That's how in a split of a second Lip feels himself small again, holding Ian's hand, while trying to explain to his teacher why he is fully legit to attend the parent meeting, while Fiona is working on her third job so they can have something close to a life in next month.   
  
The intimate atmosphere shifts rapidly when a middle-aged old bag who bends towards Fi, interrupting the family moment. Lip sees only his profile on the corner of his screen, but he is certain he has never seen this dude.   
  
"Father, please, bless my essence." He says gently with a dreamy smile and an expression of a child looking at his mother, or father according to what he called his sister. Fiona looks startled by the man and throws a quick glance toward Lip.  
  
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She mumbles clearly annoyed, as he lifts her hands up to his face, presses them first to his lips, and then to his forehead.  
  
"Thank you, father. Let the Sunshine your way." He says, bending almost perfect 90 degrees and leaves.   
  
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She mumbles, "Can't believe he found me here."   
  
There is a pregnant pause between them, as Lip stares at her, and Fiona makes a hyper-focused face, probably, trying to come up with any mildly good reason why the grown-ass man worships? her.   
  
"Did he just call you his father?" he finally blurts out.   
  
"Uhm, yeah. I think he did." She is obviously playing for time.  
  
"Fiona, did you get yourself into a new cult?" He asks in disbelief.   
  
"Of course, not!" She makes 'who do you think I am?' face, "It's the same cult,"   
  
"What the fuck, Fi!"   
  
"Okay, listen to me. It's not what it looks like?" She quickly jibbers, before he has a chance to interrupt her."You were right. FBI conducted an investigation into this shithole. Covert investigation. They spent months trying to implement someone into here but failed...until my ass appeared on the horizon. Literally." She finishes turning her head around, trying to catch any movement.   
  
"So you are working for FBI now?" He asks, not fully convinced.   
  
"I'm cooperating with the FBI. That's two different things."   
  
"Jesus Christ"   
  
"That's not all." She bites her lower lip. "I might have become their spiritual leader. By accident."   
  
"You became a cult leader by accident." He repeats, dryly. "It's not a prom queen title and not a winning lottery ticket. That shit doesn't happen accidentally."  
  
"Well, it did in my case." She rasped, defensively, "They may have an impression that I might be a reincarnation of their long-dead prophet."  
  
"I wonder why" he comments, wryly  
  
"It kinda looked like I am. It's a long story, but shortly now I have all those people on my hands that think I am their savior and I can't do a jack-shit about it, because it plays into the FBI assholes' hands." She speaks at a hyper-speed.   
  
Lip opens his mouth to make a bitter comment but changes his mind the very last moment.   
  
"So, are you saying that you left five siblings in the South Side to cross the country and adopt 300 people?" He says instead with a smirk.   
  
"It's not funny," she shakes her head, trying to pull a serious face.  
  
"It is a little funny," he squints his eyes, while his grin gets wider.   
  
"You are an ass," She informs, breaking into a smile  
  
"Just don't bring them to our house after. One more person, I swear the place is gonna break into the small sad pieces."   
  
"Yeah, fuck you!" She flips him off, "I wasn't supposed to tell you this shit. Do you think the FBI is spying on us right now?" her eyes run on the screen, studying it, like if looking for any hint that she's snooped.   
  
"Nah, pretty sure they're busy watching other people having sex," he scratches his chin.   
  
"I gotta go, anyway." She says, standing up and looking a bit guilty for leaving early, "Please, take good care of yourself." She gives him one longing look.   
  
"Yeah, you too." He nods, "And Fi?!"   
  
She drops a trustful gaze on him.   
  
"Do your bother a favor, bless my essence" he says holding both hands on his chest, right above the heart. She vigorously shuts her laptop and misses the hysterical laugh he lets out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, 'youthwillnotendure' for beta-reading the chapter!!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip is in the process of getting his shit together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 26 and this suppose to be one chapter but it was kinda long, so we have what we have. 
> 
> WARNING: the chapter didn't go through beta-reading, so I'd recommend to extremely sensitive about grammar readers to wait coupla days.

Lip is agitated while he listens into the long beeps. He practiced everything he supposes to say and had a response to every possible line that may follow after, but he still felt dizzy and shaky just thinking conversation that's about to happen. 

"Hello, my friend." says a raspy voice with a thick Russian accent.

"Alex," he greets, shortly feeling the nervousness of employees talking to their boss. 

"It's been a while. How are you doing?" Alexei says with everlasting friendliness in his voice. 

"I..." he doesn't know how to do it. Or better say he knows in theory, how to do it, but apparently, he really is so fucked up if he can't ask for help from the only person who is more than eager to provide one. "I need your advice...help. I feel like the business doesn't perform its full potential." He finally squeezes the words out of himself. 

"I see," he says, and after a pause continues, "I was expecting this phone-call for about six months ago." 

Lip catches his breath. The whole past year Alex didn't say a word of disapproval about Lip's ways of running the restaurant. He was receiving reports constantly with a silent encouragement and acceptance, making Lip doubt if he was actually reading them. 

"How bad did I screw up?" he breathes out. 

"You didn't. Relax" Lip can say that the man is smiling. "I didn't expect you to make a fortune from day one, considering you never did that before." 

Lip looked down feeling embarrassed. As a person who is accustomed to always be on top of his game, not to be good at something was a brand new area for him that felt disconcerting at best. He made a rookie mistake by underestimating the amount of responsibilities fell on his shoulders and the number of areas he had to have at least some essential expertise. Turns out you can't google everything. But it is what it is. That was the main reason why he was working his ass off to overcompensate the lack of knowledge and experience. 

"God, I know it. I mean, fuck." He rubs his forehead. It wasn't a mystery that he was a newbie, but he still couldn't help but feel like a child who failed to fulfill his parent's expectations. "I swear I read all the books from the business section. I attended tons of seminars, webinars, and workshops related to marketing and shit, but I don't know why we keep declining in customers." 

He was obviously explaining himself, but he also felt relief voicing the problem instead of cruising from denial to confusion and back again.

"And what your smart books say to you?" 

"1)Identify market segmentation 2)Divide potential customers into segments and identify a target segment 3) and build a brand around a particular segment." He cites it at a fast and steady pace.

"And what is your target market, then?" 

Lip feels like a mouse walking into some philosophical trap but he responds anyway.

"People with families?"

"See, that's where you are wrong. Your segment is everybody who wants to have a good time. They give you one of the most valuable things they own. Time. Your job is simple. Make sure they don't regret their decision. You don't sell food. You sell an experience. You understand me, kid?" 

"Surprisingly, yes. I do." He nods, even though the older man cannot see his gesture. And he didn't lie. Simple skew in the trajectory of the vision was changing the whole concept from the base."There is another thing. Alcohol. It's expensive as shit. I had to remove three brands of wine. They just cost too much." 

  
Alex sighs. Lip can hear scratches against the roughness of his beard as he speaks. "Uhm, okay. Leave your dealers. What you know about tenders?"

"Tenders?" Lip pauses in confusion," Like an auction?

"Like auction, yes. You make a request. Private firms make bids. You choose the cheapest bid. Voila. You got your wine, your vodka, your beer with a reasonable price."

"How cheap are we talking about?" Lip narrows his eyes suspiciously. 

"Cut one-fourth of the original price. Maybe 30%" he estimates.

And, shit. That's a lot. Lip could have saved a fortune if he paid 30% less for the whole booze they purchase. There is so much shit that could have been accomplished if he didn't have to save every cent even now and then. 

"That'd be perfect." But he couldn't ignore the snaky feeling of suspicion curled up in his chest."Where is the catch, tho? It can't be all that simple."

"You are right, it can't be" he confirms, sounding pleased by the quick gumption."You have to increase the amount of a monthly purchase."

"How much?" Lip holds his breath. 

"Twice more of what you but every month."

"Twice?" He gasped. 

"And they will probably make you sign papers." 

"What am I suppose to do with a surplus?" 

"That, my boy!" He stresses."That is your job. Create a demand, kid. If you can't get Russian buy alcohol, you can't do anything in this life." He says and lets out a loud, hysterical, 'phantom of opera' level worth laughter like it's the funniest shit in this wold. 

They are not a nightclub. They don't sell that amount of booze. He could get with some discount shit to attract more clients or whatever. He needs to sit and think about it real deep.   
Meanwhile, Alex, done with life long laughter, was catching his breath, letting the last giggles out. 

"Is there something else?"

"No. I don't think so." 

"Mhm," the man takes a pause and continues with a seriousness back to his tone, "There is one thing I want to tell you. Do you know how I made my fortune?" 

"Investment," he answers because he knows the Russian man's biography back and forth by heart.

"Correct." he confirms, "But you see, investment in your understanding can be different from mine. I don't invest in businesses, real estate, or stocks. I invest in people. I didn't invest in a restaurant, son. I invested in you, "Lip abruptly sucks in the air. "Lot's of immoral actions taken under 'it's just a business' ensign. Business is a tricky word and the right people are the most valuable assets. My advice to you is to make sure you are surrounded by the right people." 

Lip doesn't know what to say. Unfamiliar warmth spreads in his chest. It feels good when someone believes in you when you fail to do so. That's what must feel like to have a father figure. Another reason to hate Frank... on top of the shitload of others. He knows that he is going to remember this moment for the rest of his life. It's that type of moment. Perhaps asking for help thing is not so bad. 

"But I don't think you have a problem with that," Alex says with a sudden playfulness in his voice.

"Huh?" 

"A little bird told me you fool around with one of the waiters."

Fuck. At this point, it's obvious that it is not the finest moment in his career. He fails to do his job properly but also has nerves to sneak around the corners with a waiter. Lip is in a really ugly position right now. 

Alex's bass low laughter rattles from the dynamics of his phone "Don't worry. You have fun while young '' Alex easily dismisses before Lip has a chance to shower him with his excuses.''But Lyosha calls him always angry little man? You have very unusual taste, you know." He immediately adds. "I don't judge. If you like them angry, go head, like them angry."

"I know it's unprofessional..." He starts, because no matter how understanding Alex is, it doesn't change the fact that he is his boss. He pays his bills and stuff. 

"Lip, my man, you have to chill. In fact, you know, that is how I met my wife. Me, young Russian immigrant, and she, older and beautiful American woman. Couldn't speak a word of English, but it never was a problem. She also always angry for no reason." He chuckles, "I have to warn you, my friend, over time it doesn't disappear." 

"Hope so," Lip mumbles, grinning for the first time through their conversation and feeling grateful that the Russian man can't see a thick red blush spreading across his face. _Asking for help is really not so awful after all._

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Lip gets out of his office when he sees Mickey walking towards him with a frown. It was afternoon and they hadn't seen each other since morning, after Lip left his apartment with red swollen lips, red face and messy hair. Bruises on Mickey were healing, leaving light purple shadows, where it used to be deep blue stains. Everyone who was asking about injuries was provided with a graphically explicit story of how he saved a girl(old lady, kid(s), pet(s)) from a gang of ADULT! hooligans, with more extraordinary details each time, with Mickey throwing warning glares in-betweens towards Lip whenever his grin gets too wide, or he fails to cover his snorts and giggles. 

He reaches Lip at a quick pace, looking all tired and annoyed. 

"I hate artists. They have no idea what they want." He exclaims. Mickey is in the middle of his midterms, which brings his already usually not too merry spirit to a whole new level. "And why do I need a history of art? How is that supposed to teach me to draw better?" 

"You selected that class." Lip points out. Mickey puffs through his nose, narrowing his eyes. 

"If I wanted to hear the shit I don't give a horse crap about I would talk to Alexei." Lip holds his grin.

"I swear to God, if any of your fuckers ruin my mood today I'm going to..." and without changing intonation, nor pace he asks,"What the hell is she doing here?" He points his index finger to somewhere behind Lip, with added confusion on top of his annoyed expression. 

Lip looks around to face Svetlana walking out of his office, shoving her phone inside her bag, and fixing it on her shoulder. 

"Ex-husband," she acknowledges him, crossing her arms on her chest and looking undisturbed as usual. 

"What are you doing here?" He asks her, impatiently.

"He hired me," she says simply, tilting her head slightly towards Lip. "I'm your boss now." 

Mickey's eyes get wider as he gapes at Lip, "You...you did what?" he then changes in the face, "Does she have some shit on you? If you are being fucking blackmailed blink twice." He says entering his personal space and lowering his voice to a whisper. Lip grins and rolls his eyes. 

"He hired me because I'm good. Ask _your man_ ," she says firmly, with a clumsy gesture to the suddenly quiet Gallagher. Mickey's ears get red in no time, as he clears his throat, averting his gaze from Lip. Hm. Interesting. Does it mean that she knows there is something between him and Mickey? And if yes, how much of the details she knows? She called him his man, did Mickey say that? Lip bites his lower lip to hold a smile that's ready to appear any moment. Meanwhile, Svetlana continues, "He needs me to sell more alcohol. How lame is he if he can't get Russian people drunk?" which is followed by loud vocal laughter. 

Lip doubts that he's ever seen her smiling, or to be honest, any other emotion besides bored annoyance. It sounds weird and unnatural like a thunder on a bright day. He turns to Mickey, who stares at her like if she has grown a second head. 

"It's an inside joke," he provides, knowingly, to the bewildered by her reaction guy next to him. At some point, she acknowledges awkward silence, when no one's laughing beside her in the dead quiet corridor. She presents each of them an equally irritated look. 

"You Americans, so you don't get. In Russia, it would be a first-class joke." She makes her point, walking away mumbling something in Russian. 

"Her?" He points him towards walking away from a woman in disbelief, "You hired her? When I said to ask for her help, I meant to ask for a salad recipe, not to give her a job!" He scowls. Lip doesn't hold his chuckle. 

"I hired her because she is good." He says putting his hand on Mickey's waist and pulling him gently."She is a certified accountant, has experience with bar, supply, and stock management, and she is more than familiar with Russian culture. She is the best candidate." He quietly says, holding him by the wrist, thumbing the softest part of the skin. 

"Pfft, the other one has to be fucking Satan himself." He huffs, trying to look unaffected, but by the heavy breath and poorly covered gulp, Lip can say that he is in the right direction to lure him into his office. "No, I know what your shithead ass is doing! I'm fucking pissed. How could you hire her? She's already bossing me around all the fucking time, now you gave her a free pass. Carte fucking Blanche. And I am not overreacting!" he protests when Lip rolls his eyes. His eyes shut unwittingly, when Lip bends closer to his ear, making it easy to turn it into casual whispering for possible unwanted eyes, and instead he runs his nose through Mickey's hair, leaving a soft kiss on his temple, running his lips up and down across his cheek, lightly brushing them.

"Yeah, not overreacting at all." he agrees, not so believably. 

"Asshole," he breathes out leaning closer to the touch," The woman sucks my soul for fun and you just handed her out my balls tied with a pink ribbon on the base."

"Nah, I kept those for myself." He pulls him in the direction of his office with a grin before the grumpy guy can resist. He shuts the door behind them and presses him against the door. Mickey doesn't hesitate to switch their positions, pressing Lip against the firmness of the wood instead. 

"Don't even think that you can shut me." He warns looking flushed and breathing heavily, while his gaze runs from Lip's face to his body hesitantly, overwhelmed by the options. 

"You're always welcome to complain as much as you want with your dick in my mouth," Lip whispers out of breath, making the other guys pupils dilate. He recalls what Svetlana called him five minutes ago, " _Your man_ , huh?" he teases pulling him by the hip and pressing their foreheads. Mickey goes still and then pulls his body back. He looks at Lip's face studying.

"I didn't tell her that shit." He bubbles, and Lip is certain that if he wasn't already blood-red by their foreplay, he would blush so hard, "It's not how it sounds. My man, as my friend, ya know. Language barrier and shit. In Russian it makes a lot more fucking sense," he jabbers, but then Svetlana's loud voice comes from behind the door with a number of loud knocks against the firm wood. 

"Mickey! Stop do a sweet-talk to your _boyfriend_ and start working. NOW!" she yells on the top of her lungs, making them goggle at each other dumbfounded. 

"Uhm."Lip's the first who recovers with a smirk that quickly finds a place on his face, "And by the _boyfriend,_ she means a friend with a ding dong between legs?" 

"I hate you." He says wholeheartedly, shaking his head.

"Mhm," he tries to pull him again, but Mickey slips out of his hands before he has a chance to take a proper grip. 

"That's all your fucking fault," he declares opening the door, "One line of warning would be enough for the man. 'Hey, Mickey. Wassup! By the way, your wife is about to be your fucking boss. Your ass looks amazing in those jeans. See ya,' BUT NO-O..." He grumbles under his nose, leaving the office.   
  
"What would it change?" Lip calls as he stands in the door frame with his hands crossed, watching him distancing.

"A lot. I'd have time to stock up on garlic, crosses, aspen stakes, and holy water." he twists around, and without speeding down he walks backward and sends him double bird salute. 

"So dramatic," 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write a summary, but this shit is unreasonably hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is getting longer than the previous one, and I don't know why. I just know that it takes ages to finish it. 
> 
> WARNING: lots of mistakes. My bad.

**End of November**

Mickey doesn't have many principles. Well, that's not totally true. After going through therapy he was forced to acquire a couple. He was convinced (fucking try) to treat other people the way he wanted to be treated, which made jack of a sense because unlike other people he always can stand for himself. So if you think, Mickey doesn't just treat them like shit, he teaches them an important life lesson. That is ladies and gentlemen his contribution to society. 

Anyway, there was a principal he never questioned or has put under doubt: you never hit a woman. No exception. Until now. Okay, fine. He got into the joint because he almost ended that skanky Gallagher bitch, but he didn't plan it, okay? Shit just got out hand real fast. 

He is not gonna lie, he's been tempted more times than he'd admit. But try to live under the same roof with his ex-wife and his sister, or try to pimp bunches of hookers who speak zero English and who are ready to skin you alive once you show a hint of weakness. It's cozier to live in the snake pit than in the Milkovich household, so you know. So excuse him, for not being entirely humanitarian. But not even then he felt a hot lava burning rage flowing through his veins as it did now, looking how a blonde slut is running her skinny finger up and down across Lip's arm, flashing him unnaturally white smile and leaning too close. Way too close. 

"Stop rubbing that glass. It's two times thinner than when you started to do wiping." He hears Svetlana from the cashier check.

"Whatever," he grumbles, putting back glass and taking another, wiping it vigorously.

So that's what Lip taste looks like. Pfft. 

Since Svetlana started working here she didn't miss the chance to boss him around. He had to work twice more, he's been underpaid and had to do shit that his job doesn't include. In a day he turned into the fucking Cinderella. He started to hate his name because he couldn't stand hearing it over and over again. But with all so saying inconveniences, and he will never admit that shit out loud with a gun barrel deep in his throat, but somehow he didn't totally hate her presence. It was nice to have her around. He doesn't enjoy fighting with anyone as he does with her if that makes sense. Which probably doesn't. They had the shittiest history imaginable, and both were on each other's throats from the start, trying to lick each other into the shape. When they found a common ground, it turned out that they are as different as shades of the same color. Parenting a mutual child had its impact too. 

Yev and him get to hang out a lot more now, which made him feel over the moon. Kiddo had to live on the school grounds five days a week and was allowed out only on weekends, which didn't leave much 'faster and son' time for them. Now they could spend whole weekends playing video games in Lip's office, watching shitty superhero shows, and making pranks on the stuff.

And it's all good. At least so it was, until the long lost blonde bimbo bitch didn't find her way back to this place. Why did she have to come back from her stupid trip? Europe is out of restaurant administrators? Or hair bleach? When Lip told him about her Mickey pictured her quite differently. Older probably, but mostly more of a woman and less of a plastic. 

Fucking Gallagher, 

Son of a bitch!

If he is into the plastic, who is he to stop him? If that's what gets him going, screw it. Mandy should be happy to know it significantly declined since her. Mickey is not that petty to call her ugly (out loud). He just thinks that you never know what goblin can be covered under that camouflage people call makeup. He smirks. 

"You finish torture her in your head?" Lana grows next to him. 

"Hm?" He doesn't tear his eye from them, not for a second, as the blonde lets out a loud theatrical laughter. 

You are not a fucking Disney starlet!

"That blonde woman next to your man." 

"We talked about it. He is not my man and you should fucking stop calling him that, someone may hear you." he whispers and looks around, tearing his eyes from Lip and his barbie first time, "And I don't know what you're talking about." The last line waived into the silence. 

"Really? Change the glass, it's dry and polished." Mickey mechanically obeys, fixing his tensed gaze back on them. "You cannot hurt her. She didn't pay a bill yet." 

"I don't know what you are talking about." He replies on autopilot. 

"In Russia, we say 'If someone has her eye on your man, she has an extra eye.'" 

"Eye, hair, limb..." He lists, wryly. 

"So who is this woman?" Lana leans closer, copying his pose. 

"How should I know? Some politician's trophy wife." with periphery he sees his former wife turns to him and he does the same. 

"What?" he glares at her with a challenge. 

"How do you know this woman you say?" She narrows her eyes, suspiciously, he takes his gaze off her back to Gallagher and BBB (aka blonde bimbo bitch), just to avoid the inquisitive stare of his lovely former spouse.

"He used to bang her in her hotel room around the corner before she left his pity ass to the months-long vacation with her kids and ancient husband." He catches her lifting eyebrows in an unspoken question. "On money from taxes I pay," he adds in an attempt to save last signs of his pride. "And she is fucking around on her husband. Where is the sanity of the marriage?" She scoffs in disbelief. 

"I don't remember your dedication to sanity of our marriage?" he knew she would bring that up. She is still salty about that, sometimes. "And when you become...how do you call it? Moral cop."

"Moral police." He corrects her, not really putting a thought, "Maybe I am a moral fucking person. You should try sometimes." 

"Of course. Will do that next time I get jealous." 

"I am not jealous." he makes a full body turn to her, and vigorously slams a napkin on the table to express the whole depths of how wrong she is. Because, fuck everything. He is not jealous. Somebody's jealous? Well, not him! 

"Tell it to your man. He is coming." She immediately turns away pretending to be overly preoccupied with a register, which also annoys Mickey. It's a cashier register, not a time machine. 

Lip goes around the counter with a smile from ear to ear. Motherfucker. Happy to be around a pussy again? Look at him, shining like a Christmas tree. Asshole. Mickey keeps polishing glass, pretending that he is not his eyes were glued to them the entire time. 

"Hey," he goes behind the counter."Have you seen new burgundy wine glasses?" he says while delving for something behind Mickey, who keeps his back exclusively turned to him. 

"They are in..." yeah, no. not happening. "Ya know what? No fucking clue," he continues polishing the poor glass, ignoring Svetlana's huff. "Check the bottom shelf," he suggests innocently. 

"These are plastic cups," Lip frowns in confusion, twisting red cups in his hand.

"Oh, now you don't like it?" he mutters under his nose. 

"Did you say something?" Lip straightens up. 

"No" he keeps his back on him."Having fun I see," he says, not tearing his eye from the glass. 

"Mhm, you can say that," Lip doesn't seem to notice the annoyance Mickey's voice was soaked with, "That's a woman I've told you. Remember? The one who used to...you know..." 

"Do?" Mickey finishes instead, looking back with his brows raised by the sudden bashful humbleness. 

"Yeah," Lip shamelessly grins.

"Oh, yeah. That's her?" He asks, nonchalantly, like he wasn't the one who brutally squeezed every single detail about 'mysterious woman who was ogling Lip' from Scott 20 minutes ago. Mickey suspects that the guy is crying in the bathroom. "And I thought it's a leftover of the Playboy mansion."

Lip laughs. 

Apparently he is in a good mood and Mickey wants nothing more than erasing that stupid smile from his face. Mickey feels him approaching from the behind, feels his face next to his and his breath on his cheek when he says. 

"Is that why you kept staring?" and continues not leaving him a chance to come up with an excuse," She's noticed you. Says you are cute. Asks if you want to join us?" that's when she chooses the moment to send him a flirty wave, wiggling her fingers. Mickey looks at Lip in disbelief. 

"Oh, you don't say. Really?" he is so fucking pissed, "tell her I appreciate her offer but I'll leave all the fucking to you." Then continues in pretense realization, "Oh, wait, pardon my french. It's 'all the lovemaking'," 

"Glass!" comes a yell from Svetlana, he changes the glass in his hand to another one. 

Lip clears his throat, "So you say, you don't mind if I fuck her?" There is a suspicious undertone in his voice that Mickey would notice if he wasn't so charged. 

Mickey screams internally, because, fucking no. He doesn't want him to bang her. He doesn't want him to touch her or be around her. Fuck, he wouldn't allow this woman even touch his shadow or breath the same air, if it was for him to decide. If it was for him to decide, he would pull him by his ear to his office, lock him inside till this nasty woman leaves. And yeah, maybe he has feelings towards Lip. So what? They got themselves too far, he can't even _afford_ to go into denial. Mickey knows he likes him, far-far-far from a friendly way. It's all happening so fast that if Mickey's head spins around. But what can he do? He can't tell him what to do, or who to do. Now that the nasty woman is back, he may want to call off their time together. Mickey doesn't want it, but, again, what can he do? They are fuck-buddies, which doesn't leave much room for _other things._ _Things_ that Mickey didn't experience for years. _Things_ that he didn't think he would want to experience ever again. How naive of him was to think that once he will sleep with Lip, obsession will miraculously go away, he will be cured, where in reality his desire grows each day like a snowball. Mickey wants him entirely for himself with ugly greediness, he should feel shameful for. 

They are so _good together._ It's scary how _good_ they are _together_. Mickey has never had anything like this before, even with Ian. Not even with Ian- _this thought_ was chasing him a lot lately no matter how hard he tried to ignore it and _the thought_ that makes things a lot scarier for him. Once he was confident that what he had with Ian is everything. And oh, boy he was wrong. If he was so fucked up after Ian had broken up with him, he fears what will happen the day Lip gets fed up and decides to leave him. His future already seems miserable. The last thing he wants is to provoke him and speed up the process, 

"Not your keeper, man" he mumbles into the glass, hoping it was believable. He feels Lip's eyes on him, but keeps polishing the glass with an unnatural for him diligence, refusing to meet them. He leaves without comment or response, to which Mickey is supposed to be glad, but he is not. He has to watch him pouring that woman wine with a charming smile, while she chatters as if she just acquired an ability to talk.

"You had to say no" Lana takes her old place next to him. 

"What would it change? He is straight and I am dumb," he sighs, giving up on denying a shit. Something in his voice must give in his frustration because his ex-wife/boss puts her hand around him pulling him closer, which she hasn't done since...at all. She doesn't do that shit at all. 

"And it feels better this way? Suffer in silence?" He scowls at her. Who does she think he is? A chick heroine from a telenovela. 

"The fuck you take me for? I don't give a fuck, so you know." He huffs right at her face.

"Good you don't give a fuck," she says looking forward to the hall, "Cause Mushroom Top wants to play with the woman," 

Mickey's head swiftly turns to the couple, to see Lip face disappearing in big curls of her hair, as he leans to her ear whispering some shit, making her giggle. It all looks too intimate and painful and infuriating. He feels the firmness in his hand disappearing, followed by crackle sound and Svetlana's gasp. 

"You broke the glass." She comments, and oh. Fuck, he broke the glass. He let her take a piece of cloth with glass pieces inside away from him, while he himself physically couldn't shift his eyes from Lip and his peroxide blonde bitch. Gallagher removes her lock from her face and tucks it behind her ear with a flirty smile on his stupid face. Mickey feels that glass is not the only thing that was broken at that moment. 

Scott appears under the arch at the entrance to the hall, rubbing his eyes. Mickey moves towards the guy radiating with determination and clear intention to act. He is not some pussy ass sucker. He is Mickey Fucking Milkovich. He jumps over the counter and reaches startled Scott in two big steps reaching him by the shoulder. Before he can open his mouth a skinny guy barks at him. 

"What?! What?! What do you want now?" He shakes his hand off his shoulder with disgust, "My firstborn child? Kidney? Take it, take everything. I don't care, you made my life a living hell." 

"Uhm," maybe Mickey overestimated one's pressure tolerance. "I wanted to offer to serve your tables for you, since you were such a kickass friend lately." and presents the sincerest empathic face his face muscles can produce. 

"Oh," he looks at him in surprise, "Really?" 

"Yeah, bro. Go, get some rest. I got it." 

"Okay?" He turns around to leave, still not tearing suspicious eyes from Mickey, like if expecting another guy to call it off any moment. 

"Eh, Scott," he calls

"I knew it. What?" He comes back, outrageously with a full alert. 

"Your apron." he points to a piece of cloth tied around his waist. 

Today is not Mickey's shift. After Svetlana came to the house she arranged mild renovations here and there. Half of the restaurant is closed. Lip is stuck in his work like he never did before, making Mickey's apartment too quiet and empty to live in without his presence. Mickey felt weird alone there, so he hangs out at work all the fucking time, like now. 

"Right, sure." He blows out and takes it off in no time with a flushed face. 

Mickey quickly ties it around his waist walking right to the disgusting duo. 

"Would you like to order something else?" a frisky tingle of satisfaction spreads across his chest when Lip almost chokes, spitting out a few sips of wine he was drinking on his shirt. His triumph doesn't last long, when a blond bitch takes a napkin and eagerly helps him to wipe his mouth and shirt, way too long, way too passionately, which look more like foreplay than actual help. He might be overreacting but it's not a porn casting, lady.   
  
"Ah, no. We are good." Lip provides coughing and eyeing Mickey cautiously under his thick lashes.

"You sure?" he shoots his eyebrows, trying to make a point. 

"Yeah, we are good." the woman says instead. From closer she looked older, her make-up wasn't as flawless as it seemed and wrinkles she was hiding were more prominent. Her gaze runs across Mickey's body, and eyes sparkle when it lands on his knuckle tattoos. "But you can join if you want." 

He's about to take an invitation. 

"Hey, hello." calls a middle-aged man from another table across the hall surrounded by his family. "If you are done with them, could you take our order, please?"

Such a wrong time, man.

"Yeah, in a moment," he says reluctantly. "I ..." He makes an unclear gesture in the direction of the table, where a family was patiently waiting for him. "Yeah."

"I'm not sure what to have for the main course, but I'm certain about..." Mickey doesn't listen to a word they say but pretends to be giving his full attention, throwing glances towards Lip from time to time. For his irrational relief the guy was doing the exact same thing, but with his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to figure something out. "Becca, did you choose? Can't you see a waiter is waiting?"

"Isn't that what his job?" 'to cool for any other emotion, except boredom' teenager says wryly."It's literally _implied_ in the title." 

Father coughs and flushes slightly, giving Mickey an apologetic look. 

"Sorry," he says genuinely embarrassed. Mickey looks at the table residents with more interest, noticing the man sitting surrounded by five girls, with an age range from 7 to 16 'Fuck that, _'m_ sorry for _you_ , man.' he almost says but bites his tongue on time. 

The family continues their rant with each other and Mickey uses the moment of distraction, which is on time to notice Lip standing up holding his phone to his ear and leaving his nasty woman to sit alone. She doesn't wait too long, getting up right after he escapes behind the arch. With a mischievous grin, she pulls out a rectangular golden card from her purse and places it on a napkin, but with a second thought, she takes the napkin and places a kiss on its surface, leaving lips shape stain, before putting the card back. Satisfied, she leaps out of her place to the exit and gives Mickey a wink on her way out. 

Hotel card. Of course. He remembers Lip's porn story. A plan form in his head. If Gallagher doesn't get to the card, he won't go to her room, if he won't go to her room, he won't get laid. This time. Yeah, well, the plan is not perfect, but it's not like he is rich for options. He will have to come up with something better and longer-termed, eventually. Meh, he will cross the bridge when he gets there. One thing at the time. For now, let's cockblock this motherfucker. 

"I'm sorry we're out of that" He interrupts the man who patiently lists orders pointing to the menu.

"Which one?" the man shoots his head up. 

"All? All of them. Let me check upon something. Be right back." and walks away, not leaving the man a chance to say a thing. He quickly reaches the table where the couple was sitting two minutes ago and picks up the item. A small piece of plastic between his fingers reflects the light from the lamp. That's the only thing he manages to process when the card disappears from his grip within a blink of an eye. 

"This is supposed to be mine," Lip says with a smirk, growing from nowhere next to him and leaves Mickey staring at his fingers, where the plastic key was pinched ten seconds ago, in disbelief. So close. So fucking close. He still can feel phantom touch of this fucking card between his fingers. That's how close he was. Mickey twists around to see a glimpse of Lips back rushing out through the door. 

_This is it_

_It's over_

Mickey lets out a dry chuckle, that smoothly transitions into full laughter. Because this shit is funny as fuck. Hilarious. What did he expect? That the straight guy will give up his nature, go against his family, his beliefs, and for what? For a piece of South Side trash, Mickey Milkovich. Mickey laughs harder, and ignoring Svetlana's concerned look passes the hall. He hands apron to confused Scott, passing him by. The guy holds it tightly to his chest, without tearing his eyes from Mickey. Only when he finds himself in Lip's office, tears drop out from his eyes. He let the last chortles out, giggles turning into sobs. 

How could he forget? How in the fucking world could he let himself forget who he is and where he belongs. His canvas wasn't given bright fucking colors.

That'd be the second Gallagher who flicked him on the nose. But this time is gonna make sure that he left a _goodbye_ fucking _present_ in Milkovich style. No, not broken bones. Well, not bones.

He wipes his tears, and in a quick rush goes to the desk. There is a silver bat, an identical twin of his own, that he has given him after the last incident. Poor but still measures. 

He looks around the room. His hands are fisted tightly around the grip of the bat. Eyes are full of irrepressible rage and determination. He is gonna raze this fucking shithole to the ground!

He spots a plasma TV on the wall. Perfect. 

He points to the screen, swings his baseball bat, and smashes it with the outrageous force, his junior league coach would be proud of. If he didn't hate him. There is a big crack in the middle. 

It doesn't bring him the satisfaction he desired. In fact, he feels worse now. He swings his bat again. This time holding it even tighter in the grip. When he was about to make a second hit the door flew open to present none other than Lip Asshole Gallagher in all his glory. Mickey goes still in shock with the bat swayed over his shoulder. 

There is an almost comical pause between them. 

They study one another with the same expression of shock and stupor, each trying to process the view in front of them. Lip recovers first. He lets out what Mickey thinks is a sigh of relief and breaks into an almost fond grin. Mickey, even more startled by such a reaction straightens up, but doesn't drop the sports item.

He cautiously watches his every movement, when Lip slowly approaches him, the smile never leaving his face. Reaches for the bat, that Mickey with delay understands he needs to let go. He follows the bat that Gallagher tosses to aside with a watchful expectation. 

Mickey tears between wanting to ask why the fuck was he here, instead of drilling someone's wife and excusing himself for breaking his property( I saw a huge spider?). But none of it happens, cause Lip copes his face with both hands, and pulls him into a slow tender kiss. It's not passionate as usual, or lazily arousing, but more ...sweet? romantic? dizzy? all of the above?   
Lip pulls back before he drowns in that kiss. His bold eyes study each centimeter of Mickey's face and stop on his eyes. Mickey wonders if they have always been so blue. He looks like he is about to say something. Something important. 

"What do you want for dinner?" He asks instead. 

Huh? 

"Huh?" 

"What do you want for dinner?" He repeats as if Mickey didn't catch up the first time. "Let's get off work early today and order something home." He brings their forehead together, hands caressing his cheeks "I was busy lately, and it's been forever since the last time we spent time together. Just the two of us." 

It' s been a week, at most. Who is dramatic now?

"I just hammered your TV screen into the pieces. It's not fucking lego or a puzzle. You cannot build this shit back." He explains to him like a little child."And you ask me what I want for dinner?" 

Lip's smile widens. 

"Mhm," he lifts one hand on his waist pulling him closer, "How about Chinese? I would kill for a Kung Pao Chicken." 

Mickey's gaze falls on his face, where red mark slowly distinguishes across his right cheek distantly reminding a handprint.

"What's with the face?" 

"Ah," he bashfully looks down, running his hand lightly over his cheek another remains on Mickey's waist, "Who knew women don't like to hear 'NO' for an answer?" 

Woman? The blonde bitch? So he did follow her. And rejected her. 

"You-. Wh-. What did you tell her?" he tries to play it cool, but can't help but hold his breath when Lip looks right into his eyes.

"That I am not _her_ man." 

Du-dum, du-dum. There is so much more behind those words, behind those eyes. Or is Mickey believing what he wants to believe? Is it all in his head? He has no fucking idea. For all he knows, his heart can't 'not to react' to the man in front of him.

Mickey tugs him by his collar and sucks him in into a deep kiss. It feels so good. He thought that he will never taste these lips again. Waves of shivers run through his body and he is not sure if it's caused by the relief he feels or by the growing desire from the kiss. Mickey has to pull back while he is capable, panting into his mouth, feeling tempted to do it again. 

"Let's go home," Lip says, placing a peck on his lips and pulling Mickey to the way out of the office. 

Home,

"Then you're paying," he grumbles, "I'm broke for the month. All my cash gonna go to a new screen for you."

"Nah, screw it. I'll come up with something tomorrow." He hands Mickey his backpack. 

"You know, man? I wish you came at least two minutes earlier." 

He goes out of the office fixing his backpack on the shoulder, while Lip turns off the lights. 

**"And I don't"** words disappear unheard into the darkness of the office.   



	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry for not updating for a long time, I didn't forget about it, but physically couldn't do it.

**Monday**  
  
**6 days, 6 hours and 08 minutes till the moment X**

Mickey doesn't usually like mornings. Mainly because 'who does?', but also because his grumpy nature tends to wake up before him. But some mornings are exceptions though. Like this one, when he has woken up by the lips brushing against his neck and hot breath against the nape. His neck is the sensitive part of his body that turns him into a horny leaking bitch on the heat. 

"Mhm," he lets out a raspy moan, because, fuck it feels amazing. Strong hands gently stroke his sides and stomach pulling him closer to the hot body behind him. Oh, yes. 

"Do you have to do this shit every day?" he complains, but his smirk and rapidly increasing breath fully gives him away.   
  
"Can't fucking help it, man" a raspy mutter comes to his ear, "Mhm, just deal with it." 

Mickey thinks he's ready to live through the hardship. When impressive hard-on is pressed against his bottom and Mickey squirms in anticipation. He reaches the back for Lip's head and presses to his nape, panting heavily with a small smile on his face. Lip swiftly turns him on his back and hovers over him with a playful smile one his fresh from the sleeping face. The dim light of the morning winter sun was playing on his skin, making it look porcelain smooth. His usually fixed curls are messy, unruly and Mickey thinks if there is something you can watch forever it's morning Lip. 

Mickey is already a holder of not so small possession that contains numbers of Lip's portraits, sketches, pictures, doodles (etc,) created by his, Mickey's, own hands. And for obvious reasons, his muse is not so aware of them, or not aware at all. He has never been in his studio, which Mickey made very clear and 'I will break each bone in your body' serious that he cannot open that damn door even if it's his life depends on it. But Mickey still always feels agitated leaving Gallagher alone in his apartment, with the door locked sturdier than Alcatraz itself. But even with all the precaution he neurotic picturing how Lip enters his workroom and sees his own, Lip's, faces staring at him from all over the walls. Like a plot of an old lame thriller. 

Right now he wants to remember each line, curve, and shade on his face and bring it on his canvas, so when their paths go apart Mickey would have hundreds of drawings of him. Even though no amount of portraits, pictures, or sculptures can replace the original. In a moment of sentiment, he takes Lip by his neck, brushing his jawline. It sucks that Mickey cannot reproduce his soft touches on the canvas, texture of his skin under his touches and his smell, and how he tastes, God, he is going to miss his taste. It's too fucking bad that he cannot reproduce his laugh on his canvas. He can replicate the brightness of his eyes and deep dimples and his stupid smile, but he cannot express the sound of voice and warmth that it brings to Mickey's heart. He cannot replicate his kisses-sometimes slow, lazy, and deep, like if he is tasting an offensively expensive bourbon and taking his time, leaving Mickey's head real dizzy afterward. Sometimes impatient, passionate, and hungry, like if he is trying to suck his entire being off.   
  
Lip frowns. "What's with the face? One moment you were smiling-." 

"But then I saw you, and all my mood went down to the drain." He smirks.

And what could he say? All I can think about is you? All I want to think about is you? Man, you so stuck in my head, that all my drawings have your stupid face? That any of my professors or classmates will recognize you because you are literally all I have been drawing this entire semester? I'm so terrified to open up to you because of my desperation and obsession with you will blow you away before I have a chance to explain myself. 

  
"You fucker" he laughs. He leans down to leave bites on his neck, shoulder, and jaw. Mickey giggles, because it's fucking ticklish. 

"G' morning," he says, placing Mickey a peck on the lips, not daring to deepen the kiss. Morning breath is no joke, people. He sucks his skin on his neck, proceeding to his jaw and ear. Fuck, yeah. Mickey grabs him by his ass and presses their hips together.

"Oh," Lip shudders against his neck with his head falling onto the pillow, and Mickey does that again, then again, forcing them to grind against each other. 

"Wait," Lip stops him, "Not this time. I have something else on mind." and with a sly smile, he lowers himself, leaving kisses and sucks on his way down on the chest, belly, and hips. Mickey boxers disappear right away. Two of them are too aroused for foreplays or any other shit. 

Mickey moans loudly when he is being fully swallowed, hands digging into Lip's hair with a firm grip. He sucks him so good, and hard, and eager just like he wants it. For a straight dude, he knows his way with cock way too good. He looks down and watches curly head moving up and down, strong shoulders with sharply defined muscles, and hands firmly holding him by the hips. As if feeling eyes on him Lip looks up, and Holy motherfucking shit, his balls are going to explode. 

"Turn around," Lip gasps. His voice is raspy, lips are wet and swollen, eyes dilated, and unfocused. God, Mickey doesn't want to miss the view and wants to object, but Lip twists him around and Mickey is too turned on by being manhandled to say jack shit in protest. There is a moment of pause when Mickey thinks that something is kinda odd. They did those thousands of times. Every step, every move, and the twist is perfectly rehearsed like a fucking dance, but something doesn't fit their regular routine. 

Mickey feels a peck on his ass and Lip's hands separate his butt cheeks apart, and... Jesus Christ! 

Micky's body startled pushes itself forward with a yelp, and Lip pulls him back by the hips and pushes his tongue into his asshole. 

"What the fuck man?" He huffs, and gasps and moans, and screw it. 

"Something that I've wanted to try for a while now. Now shut your zipper. I'm working." And sticks his tongue back deep into the hole. 

There are not many things they haven't done. This is one of them. It's not like Mickey wouldn't like it. He would love it, actually, but how far Lip's sexual borders are extended? Turned out pretty far. 

Mickey squirms, not sure if his body trying to move back to the strokes or forward to escape them. Everything just feels both too much and not enough. He bites his fist because, fuck, he is going to scream otherwise. The tongue suddenly disappears, leaving it to cold air to flatter the sensitive skin down there. He feels a heavyweight of his body on him, and Lip's hot breath on his ear.

"No." He sloppily reaches Mickey's wrist and removes his fist from his mouth."Don't hold yourself. I want to hear you," and go back to the 'initial work'.

And Mickey does as he was said... 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

"Good morning, sir. I'm officer Lindsay, this is officer Martinez. We are here due to the concern that one of your neighbors has expressed." a short but tough-looking woman explains. 

Lip, Mickey, and two officers in sync turn to apartment 217a, where Mr.Perry, not so unnoticeably, as she may had thought, was spying on them, through the wide-open door. A white bund of fur is purring around her leg, rubbing off his small body against it. After she sees that she's been detected by four pairs of eyes, she swings back into her apartment, with impressive for her age pace, loudly shutting her door. The door strikes the cat, sweeping poor animals out of the apartment with a loud 'mew'. Then it opens back again and with another, waul, cat gets harshly pulled by its tail back into. Ouch.   
  
Two cops exchange confused/questioned looks, before looking back to Lip and Mickey who was standing like nothing weird happened. Mickey didn't have a gram of any illegal psychotropic substances, so he let himself to be pissed for making them bring their asses out of the bed. 

"So, one of your neighbors expressed concern about the way you treat your pet." 

"Our pet," Mickey repeats dryly. They were interrupted right after the sex with a loud knock on the door, and instead of lazily lie on the bed making out they had to bring their asses with their pants on, to be asked about an imaginary pet they don't have. And people say that he doesn't like the police for personal reasons. "What the fuckin..." 

"Excuse us, officers, but we don't own a pet of any kind." Lip steps forward before Mickey made/said/ and/or expressed with his brows something stupid. 

"Really?" Officer Lindsay asks.

"Are you sure? Your neighbor insisted that there were taken violation actions against a pet." Officer Martinez, an older man with white strings of hair on the temple, asks. 

"Violation action? Did you see how she treats that poor piece of fur called cat? She wouldn't recognize a violation action against an animal if it hit her with a bus." Lip moves in front of him, taking all the attention. 

"He means that Mrs.Perry must have misunderstood. What problem was pointed out in the report?" He reaches Mickey's hand from behind and holds it, soothing him from saying something. He pinches him under the ribcage a little bit. No one likes kiss-asses. 

"There was information about animal abuse." Repeats officer Martinez

"Woman called '911' and said that she hears what she called 'loud whimpers, howls, and snarls coming from the apartment 216b'. 15-20 minutes ago?" reads officer Lindsay from her pad. 

'Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me' 

Mickey's goes red from toe to the tips of his hair. 

"Oh, really?" Lip on the other hand sounds pretty entertained by the whole situation, radiating joy. "Did you hear that, Mickey?" He turns to him with a wide shit-eating grin all across his face.

"Fuck you, Gallagher," he growls into his ear, trying to retreat into the depth of his apartment. He doesn't want to hear whatever lie Lip will come up with to explain the sound of porno parody to the animal planet. Mickey tries not to feel bitter about it because he was in his shoes, and the last thing he wants is to make him feel forced to be someone who, apparently, he is not. But the little tingle in his chest reminds him that he's not fooling anybody, even himself. Lip's grip tightens up around his hand, preventing Mickey from moving away. 

  
"So, officers. There definitely was a misunderstanding. The animal, or as I personally call him the beast," Mickey without a blink of an eye smacks the upside of his head, but the guy barely reacts continuing, "you are looking for is here. In fact," he forcefully pulls impossibly red Mickey out from behind him,"closer than you think." he meaningfully clears his throat. Mickey expressively averts his gaze from the officers and elbows the asshole behind him, that moans out giggles. 

"Oh?" 

They say in unison deeply confused. Lip hangs his arm around Mickey placing his head on one shoulder, and pointedly stroking another while looking all innocent. To add some effect he rubs his head against Milkovich's shoulder. The message couldn't be more clear. 

...

"Oh"

...

"O-oh" officers look at one another and with each 'oh' their expression changes from confusion to realization to amusement. They have enough manners to suppress their grins and chortles with coughs. 

"Since we established that the pet is fine." he earns the second smack. Fucking clown."Can we...?" He points to the inside of the apartment. 

"Yeah, absolutely." The man clears his throat, "You can go back to what you were doing...uh, I mean, not that I know what you were doing... Uhm." 

"Have a nice day, boys. You guys are a cute couple," another officer says, pulling her partner away. Her assumption stays uncorrected. 

Mickey looks at Lip within an attempt to process what has just happened. How is he real? That officer thinks he is gay now. Not that it's a big deal, they probably never gonna see them again, but he also could have just waved it off like an annoying fly. Maybe it's Mickey who is making a big deal out of his sexuality. Maybe years of soaking in hate and disgust towards himself and people like him left an irremediable mark on him. But Gallagher. Mickey always thought that Lip would deny anything between them because he is straight and shit. It ached to be a dirty secret sometimes, but Mickey thought of it as a boomerang effect, for doing the same to Ian, whose feelings against his will he started to understand. He assumed that Lip will deny a shit also because they kinda just fuck, no strings attached and all. A little too late with that but whatever. And for a millisecond there is a weird and unexpected thought lightens up in his head. What if Lip wouldn't be entirely appalled by the idea of like...being with Mickey? You know like, romantically or whatever. Maybe as a couple shit, you know. Like with those corny dates, and disgusting kisses in public. They even could hold hands, maybe...sometimes. Mickey never really wanted that shit, but he thinks he doesn't mind suffering a bit...with Lip. His heart pounds like crazy and his face flushes with double heat. He pushes away those thoughts. 

Lip interprets his silence in his own way, "Let me guess, it's all my fault." 

It sobers Mickey up a little, "No shit, Sherlock." 

"How, again?" He wonders. 

"Really?" he raises his eyebrows, "I want to hear you. Don't hold yourself," Mickey mimics his voice with a mocking nasal pitch.

"Huh," pause, "That sounds reasonable," 

"Why so surprised? When shit I've said was _not reasonable_?" 

"Well, you kinda have a soft spot a-"

"Say drama and I will knee you in the groin." 

"Ehhh, _overreaction_?" LIp tries, eyeing his knee cautiously 

"Bullshit," he huffs, "I never overreact." 

Lip laughs openly, throwing his head back

"Okay. When have I overreacted?" he demands from Lip who is leaving Mickey in the hall without giving him a proper answer. 

"Hey! I'm talking to you! Tell me one time I've overreacted? I want the date, time, the details and proof, or I'm gonna sue you ignorant ass. You hear me?" he follows him. 

From that day, whenever Mickey passes by Mrs.P's door he walks exclusively with a middle finger pointed to the bitch's door, accompanied by Lip's snort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have planned 7 small scenes before the day or the moment X, whatever, but each scene is getting longer and longer, I'm afraid it will turn into 7 chapters. Will try not to do it, though, because they are not so relevant. Just wanted to add some detail fo the full picture.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday - BoWfuckingWoWday  
> Tuesday - Yevday   
> Wednesday - Kevday   
> Thursday - Yevday 2.0   
> Friday - Fuckthehistoryclassday   
> Saturday - BoWfuckingWoWday 2.0 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Sorry for the long update. Big appreciation to Amess258 for the encouragement:)  
> 2) I know that Yev probably supposes to be somewhere around 8, but let's pretend that I am that bad at math and you are that careless to notice.  
> 3) The next chapter is probably a pinpoint of the story and the moment X is suppose to change the whole dynamic of the fic, but generally speaking, I still have no clue what am I doing. So let's just see what will happen...  
> 4) All mistakes and inconsistencies are totally on me. Any help is welcomed.  
> 5) I felt to shy to do it before, but thank you for your comments, kudos, and for reading the fic. It means a lot to me)

**Tuesday - Yevday**

  
**4 days, 20 hours and 16 minutes till the moment X**

**around 8 pm**  
  
Lip almost kicked his ass on Xbox when the number of loud, short knocks against the door and continuous doorbell ring caught them both off guard. They throw each other identically worried looks before heading to the hallway with Lip in the front and Mickey behind, holding a bat ready in his hands. 

"Who the fuck is that?" Mickey yells. Both knocks and bell ring stop abruptly, replacing it by a short pause. 

"Dad?" unsure teenage voice comes from the other side of the door. Mickey immediately drops his bat and rushes to open it. He lets in the young boy inside, who immediately clenches around Mickey with a dead grip. 

"Hey, buddy." He breathes out a chuckle, relaxing around little body, and feeling a bit ashamed for yelling at his son. "You should be proud of yourself." He brushes Yev's head."You scared the shit out of two grown-ass men." Yev doesn't respond, tightening into the grip even harder. There is an odd, overly stretched silence in the air. The boy, against his nature, is too quiet and persistently keeps hiding his face, digging it deeper into his father's chest. Something's off. "Look at me."

The boy doesn't move.  
  
"Yev, look at me." 

He looks up. There is a huge bright bruise shining on his eye. Mickey's body goes still. 

"Who did this?" He asks in a low threatening voice.  
  
"Dad, please. It's really nothing." Yev weakly, almost tiredly tries to wave it off. 

"Who fucking did this to you?" He asks louder, with a voice sounding foreign even to him. Lip quickly flies to his side pulling him away from the guilty-looking boy.

"Come on, dude. Let him in, first. Then ask all you need." Mickey feels irritated but obeys anyway. 

"It was boys at school" Sitting in the living room Yev finally admits studying his hands on his laps. "Just some assholes,"

"Have they been picking out on you?" Lip asks, which Mickey is grateful for, since he is not capable of connecting two words without yelling. 

The boy chooses to keep silent. 

"How long?" Mickey asks not tearing his eyes from his son. 

"From the start," he whispers. 

"Fuck, son." Yev looks even smaller."Why didn't you tell your mom or me? We would-" 

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you." Yev protests."I don't want you to do anything." 

Mickey's brows fly up. Lip presses his palm against his chest before he can do or say anything he will regret later on. 

"Why is that, Yev?" Lip tries gently.

"I-" but he doesn't finish it. 

"Ok. Does your mom know that you are here?" Lip asks. 

"Yeah...Maybe." Yev sighs deeply, and not so eagerly explains. "We had a fight. She wanted to go to the principles office because of ..." He gestures to his face."I said that she can't go there. And...I said real bad things to her, dad" he looks up for the first time since the beginning. 

Mickey's expression softens. 

"I'm sure she knows that you didn't mean it" 

Yev nods but doesn't look very convinced. That precise moment Mickey's phone rings.

"That's your mom. I'll talk to her, try to convince not to set your school on fire." He says smiling gently to his son. 

  
He is not sure how long he's been in the bedroom talking to Svetlana. He was trying to convince her not to slam into his home and choke him with her attention, and just give him some time. She, in return, briefly explained the whole situation. Turned out the school not only didn't punish that son of bitches, but also had nerves to suspend Yevgeny from school for two weeks, as an 'instigator' of the fight. At the end of their conversation, Mickey was so worked up that he was ready to get back his bat and tear apart this pretentious la-di-da fucking school brick by brick. When he got back into the living room, he found Yev and Lip in exact same place and position as they were when he left, except now they were bent towards each other and were seriously, almost conspiratorially, discussing something with faces of people who are trying to calculate the gross income of the population in Calcutta. He didn't hear a shit any of them said and when he reached the periphery of Lip's vision he stands up stopping yet from saying whatever he was about to say. Interesting. 

"You're back" Lip quickly speaks, "Yev wants to say you something." 

Yev throws unsure gaze at Mickey, who expectantly studies them in return. 

"Yeah, dad" he starts not very confidently, "I-uh, I don't want you to go to school and did anything about it. NO! Listen to me. This is my battle and, and...and you say that I'm a man. Let me deal with it like a man." Mickey really wants to protest, "I know that I've disappointed you-" 

"What?!" Mickey rushes to his side and lets his hands land on his shoulder, "Hey, no. That's a bullshit?" 

He looks into his eyes, trying to read through his expression. When did it happen and how could Mickey miss it? Did he fail to show his son his love? Is he a terrible father? 

"There is nothing in this world that could make me disappointed in you. You hear me? I'm always proud of you." He says hoping to deliver the whole sincerity of his words. 

Yev relaxes in his arms and nods, his eyes are shiny. He hugs him again. Mickey's heart melts. 

"I have to go back to school." He says, hiding his teary eyes. 

"Your mom says you were suspended." 

"Yeah, I know." he pulls a face. Definitely, not Milkovich."I left school so quickly, and didn't take any of my stuff."

"Are you sure? We could hang out together today. Make a boys night." He gestures to three of them, "Xbox, fast-food, huh? When was the last time you ate something that is not 'real food'" he mimics Svetlana's Russian accent on 'real food', "and after we can watch some 16+ movies with bloodbath every five minutes. And tomorrow if you still up to it, I can take you to your stupid school." 

"No, dad." Yev gives him a tired smile, and Mickey tries not to feel rejected, "We should do it next time. I'd love to do it the next time" it sounded like a promise. "But I need to do something today," he says with all grave determination his yet childish face can pull off. He throws, again, a quick meaningful look at Lip, and Mickey, again, feels like he is missing something. 

"He was a bit of offbeat. Don't you think?" After Svetlana took Yev, he asks Lip who hastily looks away. 

"I don't know," He quickly retreats to the bedroom. 

"Hey, did you see the bag of weed I left on the coffee table." 

"I smoked it," was the immediate answer.

"A whole bag?" Mickey asks, doubtfully. 

"Yap," 

"Uh, a'right?"   
\----------------------------------------------------------------

**Wednesday - Kevday**

**4 days, 7 hours 13 minutes till the moment X**

**around 9 am**

"What is he doing here?" Mickey demands. 

"Scott quit the job," Svetlana replies from the counter. 

"That doesn't answer my question. What the fuck he is doing here? Doesn't he have like a bunch of spawns to take care of?" 

"Uh-Uhm, Mickey... Imma like right here, man. And my girls are angels...when they're asleep." 

"Him?" Mickey exclaims, in disbelieve. 

"Yes, him." She finally lifts her head. "Scott quit job. We need a waiter. He is familiar with job."

"Familiar with job or with your pussy?" Mickey scoffs. Svetlana crosses her hands on her chest. 

"Well, he is more familiar than you" 

"Job or your pussy?" 

"Yes," Kev snorts and covers it with a poorly faked cough when Mickey throws him a grave dead glare.

"Why did Scott quit, anyway? I just got used to him and his bright personality."he says studying his nails, feeling too lazy to include a somewhat plausible pity into his voice so it sounds flat as a board. 

"Oh, if you are so interested..." She pulls a smartphone out of her pocket. 

"Not really," 

"...I will read his message for you." 

"Please, don't"

"Hello, Svetlanah." She reads emotionlessly with her thick accent. 

M: "He misspelled your name," he says, peeking on the screen of her phone. 

S: "I'm writing you this message to inform you that I'm quitting this job. I apologize that I didn't inform you beforehand, but I just can't keep working under those conditions."

M:"What a pussy." 

S: "The pressure that I was getting was unbearable, and I started to worry about my mental condition, in addition to concerns about my physical health."

M: "Yeah, waitering is no joke. You heard that? Sure you can handle it?" he says, crossing his arms, glaring at Kev under his highly raised brows. 

S: "And there is one person behind all my struggles and sufferings. I can't say who it was for the sake of my life."

M:"Pfft, Lyosha- the chef. Fucking tyrant. Drove poor kid out like needless dog." 

Meanwhile, Svetlana continues reading with the same flat voice. "You know what. What the hell. It was Mickey Milkovich." 

M:"Wait, what?" 

S:"I blame him for everything. I did my best to bravely concur with his constant assaults. I guess even best of us has an expiration date. I had to lay down arms ..."

M: "Oh, that son of a bitch! The fuck is he blaming me for? I was nothing but kind to that little piece of shit." 

S:"I was a victim of constant harassment, insult, assault, blackmail and just because he and our administrator, Lip Gallagher, are involved in this "secret" se..." 

"Oh wa-ha-la-la." the end drowns out in his gibberish yell. He quickly snitches out the phone from her hand and frantically deletes the last message and tosses it back. "Don't listen to him, Kev. He was a writer. Vivid imagination and all." 

Kev looks at him in confusion combined with mistrust but quickly shoves it off. 

"Listen man, I understand you don't wanna see me here. You have your reasons, and I respect that. But V and I want to repair the Alibi. Give it a second life, so to say" 

"That shithole? Good luck with that." 

"My angels are growing up like a weed. The expanses are hitting me in the pocket like a bitch. And it's not like I can ask them to hold on a bit with raising or put them on pause. The process is ir-fucking-reversible. I need cash man." his sighs, and Mickey may feel a bit bad for him. He knows how much money raising a child can cost and if triple it. Dang. "And if you worried that I will tell 'you know who'?" He pointedly raises his brow. Of course, Ian. 

"Voldemort?" 

"I will not. He asked me the other day and I very believably said that I don't remember you," he says looking very proud of himself. His overconfidence about his lying abilities is disturbing. 

Mickey is gonna regret it, isn't he?

"I'm gonna regret it, ain't I?" He exhales tiredly rubbing his forehead."Fine, do whatever you want. I don't care." 

"Hallelujah!" Kev exclaims with both fists in the air.

"Go teach him how to work." Svetlana, who wasn't showing any interest in their little skirmish, orders. 

"The fuck do I have to do it?" 

"I have a screenshot of the message Scott send me. Let me finish it for you." 

"Oh, wa-ha-la-la. Welcome to Beryozka, Kev. We are happy to have you in our little family!" Mickey drags him into the hall with overly enthusiastic, totally fake joy. Its early morning and the hall is mostly empty, so not many witnesses of his lunatic behavior. "Here's what you have to know. Don't say mean shit to costumers, they are fragile like a flower, I swear. Which reminds me, do not swear. That's hard as fuck, but man up and shut your zipper when you have to. And every now and then there will be some chicks and dudes call themselves influencers, or as I call them fancy beggars. They will demand free shit. Politely offer them to go fuck themselves." 

"No shit?" Kev looks around, looking uncomfortable. Mickey understands his frustration, he also felt like a fish out of water in this place the first month of his work. So he continues shaking his wisdom.

"Oh, and see that old man?" Kev nods, "Has grabby hands. Can pat your ass when you serve him his broccoli soup." 

"The fuck? Unless that old bag of bones wants me to break his naughty hands he better keep them to himself." He almost yells. 

"Can you keep it fucking low? The old bag is not totally deaf." he sends a half-nod to the old man, who returns a saccharine smile back to him. "He tips up to 70 bucks for one stinky soup." Mickey says drily. 

"70 bucks? For 70 bucks he can eat his soup from my ass." 

"Just as I thought."   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and the next chapter is on the way.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter turned out to be a bit messy. I confess: countdown shit is so incorrect. So, have some mercy, don't try to count it. Thanks for reading, liking and commenting.

**Thursday - Yevday 2.0**

**3 days, 14 hours, 43 minutes till the moment X**

"What a woman!" he hears a gasp next to him. He throws Aleksey an annoyed glare. Svetlana is on the phone in front of them, taking a pause every now and then just to yell at Kev who looks like he is ready to eat his apron. Mickey is fucking blessed that he wasn't trained under her supervision. The woman is a despot.   
  
"Shut up," 

"About this kind of woman we say:   
'A run-away horse she will master;   
Walk straight to a hut that's aflame'." He continues not really giving a shit about whether he's been heard or not. 

"Yeah, you really know how to value a woman," 

"Look at her. So strong, so demanding. I bet she is bossy in the bed." 

"Ok, that's it. That's my wife you are talking about, you filthy pig." He fully turns to him. They may never be a couple, but she is still the mother of his child. 

"Aren't you a cocksucker?" Lyosha graces him with a glance for the first time since the beginning of this piss poor glorification of his ex-wife. The question drives into Mickey a whole range of emotions from anger (I prefer term rainbows shitter, you asshole) to resentment (What? Now If I am gay I can't marry a woman?), and he is about to trash this mohterfucker when a helluva wicked thought strikes him in the core. He smiles devilishly. 

" _Aren't I_ , Lyosha. _Aren't I_?" He stretches words, giving him a meaningful look. 

"Ah?" he makes a dump face. 

"Why would I, a gay man, would marry a woman?"

"Why?" 

Are you fucking kidding me? 

"Because she..." he explains like he is a 5-year-old. How somebody can be so dull? 

"Because she...?"

"...is not..." He remembers Sveta teaching Yev alphabet and even that didn't look this pathetic.

"....is not...?" He still looks confused, "Oh, I got it." Fucking finally. "Why didn't you just say so. You married her because she is not American. Green Card." 

"You're fucking idiot, Lyosha. Man. **She is a fucking man**." 

.......

His expression is just precious. Mickey almost feels bad for the guy, but there is no way back. 

"...You mean she has a...?" he bends the arm of his right hand with his left hand on the flexion. The right hand is pointing the fist up and generally looks like, what Mickey guesses is a phallus. 

"The biggest I've ever seen." 

He opens his mouth and Mickey expects him to speak, but then shuts it promptly, and then opens again. That happens several times. He keeps opening and closing his mouth, channeling a fish. Did he break him? Mickey doesn't wait up till he squeezes a mildly understandable sound out of himself, and walks towards Svetlana, who loudly calls him from the other end of the hall. 

"I need to go, to talk to my ex-SPOUSE." 

"Hey! Is that why you divorced?" He hears Alexei's desperate voice from behind, but doesn't turn back nor does he reply. 

Well, that was fun. 

"What up? It's my break."  
  
"School called. Said principal wants to talk to you."

"Why me?"

"He said he wants to talk with parents that didn't call him fat lazy pig." 

"Okay, let's see the fuck they have to say." 

"Why cooker is staring on my crotch?" Svetlana asks looking at the counter where a minute ago Mickey was having fun with Lyosha.

"Looking for any sign of a dick." 

She doesn't say anything but lets out the longest sigh in the history of sighs. 

Oh, well. 

Ten minutes later he enters into Lip's office where the other guy was, as always, buried under a pile of papers totally out of reality. That's the thing about Lip, he can work anywhere, anytime, and under any conditions. Get him out of his trance state-that' s the problem. 

"Philip. We need to talk" he calls loudly, making the other guy frantically looks up. It's a new thing found it's way into their dynamic. Whenever Mickey calls him by his full name he gets all stir up like a mischief pooch. Maybe Mickey should pursue a career in dog training? 

" **What did I do**?" 

"Nothing. Yet. Yev's principal called."

"And?" 

"Says in the locker, of one of the assholes who bullied Yev, was found a bag of weed. Apparently, he is the son of a local councilor or something." 

"You don't say." not even a pinch of surprise.

"It' s gonna be a big scandal." 

"What does it have to with Yev anyway?" 

"Well, that bag of crap (principal) thought it was suspicious that 10 years old boy can 'posses a narcotic' " he makes a grimace, mimicking his voice. "Decided to find a more suitable suspect for 'such a horrible crime'."

"Did you tell him to go fuck himself?"

"Yeah. Said that if it's gonna happen again, the story of ´Marginalized´ and ´privileged´ school discriminattion against its students from middle-class families will flash in every corner of the country. But not the point. I can't believe you gave my 9-year-old son drugs?"

"That's what it's all about. I didn't give him it to use it" Lip defends himself. 

"What-fucking-ever, man. You just don't give drugs to 9-year-olds. How hard is that?" he's mostly salty because they didn't tell him, but he can't admit it, can he? 

"You gave Carl a gun when he was nine," Lip exclaims. 

"That's fucking different." 

"How is that different?" 

"First of all, at that time your brother was already way down on his path of becoming a serial killer. Gun was the next logical thing." Mickey slowly explains, "Second of all, you weren't suppose to know that!" and hisses the rest. 

Mickey sighs tiredly. He is aware of why he's picking a fight. Lip knows it as well. Mickey has never been good with words. There are certain things that are still hard to say out loud no matter how much effort Mickey puts, he can't function like the rest of the world. Cannot be a healthy member of society, and not that what he strives for. He just wished that there were things he could do without feeling like he is sacrificing his entire being, like a mini death. Each time. 

"I have to thank you aren't I?" he scratches skin above his brow, nervously.

"Nah. My intentions were nothing but selfish," he gets up and pulls him by his waist closer to himself. "I did it because Yev is important to you, and you are important to me. See. It was all about me. Did you lock the door?" 

Important to him. Mickey is important to him. And he knows him. And he cares about him. Mickey feels an urge to tell him that he is important to him too. That he, Mickey, really cares about him. So much. 

"Do I look like a fucking amateur to you?" He says instead because he still needs some time to say things he wants him to hear. Things that he deserves to hear. Important things. He strokes his inner thigh all the way up, making Lip choke with air. 

"Definitely not an amateur." 

Mickey has never been good with words, cause he is more of a man of action. Action speaks louder than words - they say. And, oh boy, **he has a lot to say...**

"Fu-uck" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

**Friday - Fuckthehistoryclassday**

**11 pm**

**1 day, 16 hours, 12 minutes till the moment X**

Mickey is staring at the back of his head for the last half an hour. They're in the bedroom with their laptops. Mickey leaned back against the headboard, supposedly, writing his final paper, but instead gazing at Lip who is sitting on the same bed but several feet forward away. He is checking some endless numbers that can't be so informative, but still Lip, like hypnotized, doesn't tear his eyes from them.

He and Yev became buddies or something, after the story with bullies and weed, and Lip taught him how to use the brain in the battle instead of muscles. That what Yev told him. That's a very Lip way to solve the problems. Mickey is more classy in his approaches. Beat first, think after. But right now, he more and more is getting convinced hot Yev looks a lot like Lip. Eyes and hair color, curls, the way he talks and dimples, brains. Milkoviches combined have an IQ of a teaspoon. So is it possible that Lip is his biological father? He should ask him. 

He can't ask him directly though. It has to come from afar. Yes. Like a Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon. 

"Phillip Gallagher where were you on January 13, 2011?" 

Good job, Mickey. Subtle as a flying mallet. 

"January 13. Ten years ago." He stretches thoughtfully, looking up seriously focusing on the answer. "Let me think. In the morning I've eaten a pretty good sandwich and spent the rest of the day not banging Russian prostitutes." And with a calmness of Tibet monk goes back to his numbers. 

Fucking smart-ass. 

"You can prove that?" 

"I don't have to prove a shit. We both know what it's all about." He mumbles, half present in the interaction 

"Oh, really? So enlighten me, Master Yoda." Lip is still focused on his computer but corners of his mouth go up. 

He doesn't know shit.

"You are procrastinating. You have a term paper that you are to apply due tomorrow noon, and that you have a hard time writing and your brain is trying to find you a more engaging and seemingly serious problem to solve, so you can have an excuse not to do what we both know you should do."

He is right. 

"You're wrong. I have no problem writing this stupid paper."

"Yeah? Then why don't you show me how wrong I am by finishing it?" He looks at Mickey pointedly.

"Fine, asshole" 

Lip grins at him. 

This whole week Mickey couldn't stop thinking about Lip, which, okay, when could he? But the way he so casually, so naturally hanged his hand around Mickey and placed his head on his shoulder. He didn't care whether they think he is gay or not. Moreover, he was the one who delivered that precise idea, and now Mickey is feeling something very dangerous. Something that may ruin their friendship once and all. It's not even funny anymore how their relationship is hanging on a thread all the fucking time. He is done with their mating dances around each other. He is going to ask him ...to be his boyfriend? Fuck, it sounds so gay even for his own gay ears, what if Lip will think that it's too radical for him? The last thing he wants is to scare him away. He could start from afar, asking what he thinks about dating a dude. Yeah, that looks like a safe ground and then he could orientate from his reply. 

Mickey watches his broad back hunched over the computer. He is wearing Mickey's wifebeater and that's the most arousing thing in the world. Of all people, Mickey must be attracted to him. He can't say how it happened. Let's be honest, they are so incompatible. If there is a list of people who are destined not to be together they would be right after Putin and Trump. But he wants it to work out so-so much that resonates with a sharp pain in his chest, distantly reminding a growing panic attack. Mickey lifts his hand towards him and there is a still coupla inches distance between his index finger and Lip's shoulder. How symbolical. The irony that it's exactly how he perceives their relationship. Lip is always so close, just reach your hand and there he is. But the truth is there always gonna be few fucking inches of space that won't let him really reach him. Reach him, touch him, have him. Always so close, and so not close enough. 

  
"I can hear your brain working. Dude, write your fucking paper." Lip interrupts his thoughts not tearing his eyes from the computer. Mickey's fall on the bed, while he personally is busy blushing his ass off, feeling embarrassed by his inner monologue of a 13-year-old teenage girl. 

"I'm writing. Fuck you!" And as proof clacks over the keyboard. 

He could last ten more minutes before gasping annoyedly. 

"Nah. Fuck this shit." He shoves his laptop away and places it on the floor."I don't know who I was kidding. I can't write a sentence without swearing or making a mistake. This textbook is written in gibberish, I don't get a fucking sentence. I thought since this class has no exam it will be a cakewalk. But I can't do it! I can't do it!" 

He makes himself comfortable on the bed, ignoring Lip's questioned look. 

"I'll just fail this fucking class and let it fucking be. Don't forget to turn off the lights when you go to sleep."

He covers himself with a blanket, mumbling "fuck the history". When he is slowly diving into his sleep he feels lips on the bare skin of his shoulder. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

**around 7 am**

**1 day, 8 hours, 43 minutes till the moment X**

Tap-tap-tap-tap

This noise is annoying and it just refuses to stop. Mickey opens his eyes, squeezing them from the light, and sees Lip on the exact same place where he was when he went to sleep, but now he's rapidly tapping something. 

"Well, good morning to you too," 

Lip turns him with a tired smile on his face. His eyelids look like they weigh a ton each, his permanent dark circles underlies eyes are coupla shades darker. 

"Did you go to sleep, man?" 

"Nah, will do it later. I'm almost done." 

He turns back to tapping. Mickey sits up and looks down at his work. 

"Hey, is that my computer?" 

"Mh-hm," 

"What are you-?" 

"A-and done!"

He openly smirks at lost in confusion Mickey. 

"Wha...what-?" 

"Your assignment. It's done. Just send it to your professor before noon." 

Mickey blinks and then blinks again, washing away the last signs of drowsiness. 

"There are five thousand words." He hears himself saying, while his brain is working to process it all. 

"Yeah, I'm aware." He smiles again, but he is so tired that it doesn't reach his eyes. 

"You've been working the entire previous day and spend all night writing my assignment." He sates. 

"Guess so," he mumbles, and Mickey wishes he gave him more than that. 

Mickey jumps on him pressing him onto the mattress with his body. Somewhere on the background, he hears his laptop landing on the floor, meanwhile, he straddles surprised Lip's hips and kisses him hard and deep. His surprise doesn't last long, as he pushes himself up and kisses him back, passionately. 

That's it! He made a decision! He is going to do it! He is going to ask him to be his boyfriend! 

Yeah, no. Still sounds gay. He needs to work on his approaches. 

Lip moans into his mouths, pulling him closer by the small of his back. He deepens the kiss once more with his hands already intruding under the waistband of his boxers and blatantly squeezing a handful of buttcheeks. 

"If that's what turns you on, I volunteer to do all of your assignments, homework, and projects for the rest of your study" he groans."For the rest of your life," 

Mickey hurriedly lowers himself to the level of his waist, pulls down his briefs, and swallows him hard impatiently. 

"Aw, aw, aw. Slow down, mickey. Aw...oh. Oh? OH!" 

He sucks him harder with full range. 

"How the fuck are you doing it! Don't fucking stop!" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------  


"Good morning, sir. I'm officer Lindsay, this is officer Martinez." 

Mickey takes his time to stare at them I prostration. He narrows his eyes. 

"Am I in some time loop? Like in the Groundhog Day?" 

"So, no pet again," officer Martinez asks exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Since Monday? No."

"That old lady of yours think that there is no crime to solve besides complying her caprices? We just came from the scene of the reported stabbing with a fatal outcome. Five people. Five people. Haven't seen so much blood since the blood mincer in 1997."

"Not again." 

I was a young officer at that time and I remember it like it was yesterday. The day was surprisingly sunny for that day of a season. Nothing of ill omen was apparent-"

"Is it a long story? I need to be at work...while _I am_ young." 

The officer makes a pause, considering his question but then nods. 

"Yes. So what was I saying? Ah, right. I was a young officer..."

"LI-I-I-I-I-P!" He yells on the top of his lungs

"What's up" Lip appears in the entrance, "Oh, wow. I think I'm having a deja vu. What's the problem officers?" 

"Yeah, officer Martinez has an interesting story to tell you." 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 **Sunday**

**17 minutes, 53 seconds till the moment X**

Mickey's trying to set this fucking walk-in refrigerator. He can swear this shit doesn't work. It's cool inside, sure, but it supposed to be cold. Isn't it the whole point? He walks out of it and then walks in again. No, this shit doesn't work properly. He needs to talk to Svetlana. This place makes more than enough profit, it can afford a new refrigerator, for God's sake. He can talk to Tony and push it for a good price to save Lip some cash.  
Overall things were going so good for them. Getting Lana into the business was the best decision. She light-handedly upgraded this place, and now they were having reservations. Reservations. Unbelievable. Lip was worried about alcohol being left, but after karaoke Fridays and Ladies Wednesdays all booze was outflowing like a Niagara fall. 

Lip never looked better. To Mickey's relive the signs of life in stress and overwork were leaving his face, replacing it with a healthy glow on his skin and shiny spark in his eyes. 

**13 minutes, 31 seconds till the moment X**

This fucking refrigerator doesn't work and it sucks because he urgently needs to cool down. He is about to make probably the biggest mistake of his life. Something he never thought he would do in a million years. He is going to ask a guy to date him. Mickey makes a shot of tequila. The third one. Well, gulps rather than shots. He was too lazy to get a glass. A bottle of forgotten Dano's Blanco was the only thing he could dig out of stuff room. He doesn't even hope to relax, just to stop his hands from trembling. The fourth shot goes smoother and Mickey feels confident flowing in with a hot liquid in his chest. He is ready. Just stick to the plan.

1) Corner him.  
2) Casually start the conversation about dating shit  
3) Ask him about his thought about dating a dude

And the rest is gonna depend on his answer. He makes the fifth shot. Okay, he needs to stop. He didn't eat a shit from the morning. It's gonna bite him in the ass later on. 

**8 minutes, 51 seconds till the moment X**

He slaps himself on the face a few times. Okay, he is ready! He goes out of the refrigerator but then comes back, makes one last shot, and leaves the place. 

**3 minutes, 53 seconds till the moment X**

He'll do it now. He'll do it now. Lip's office is empty.

**1 minute, 49 seconds till the moment X**

He'll do it now. He'll do it now. Mickey feels sweat on his hand and his heart pound is echoing in his head. He deeply breathes in and out to rip off a tight clench of fear in his chest. 

**5 seconds till the moment X**

He'll do it now. Before he changes his mind.

**4 seconds till the moment X**

He walks into the hall. 

**3 seconds till the moment X**

"Gallagher!" He calls loudly.

**2 seconds till the moment X**

He is so ready. There is no way back. 

**1 second till the moment X**

Two heads synchronically turn towards his call. One is blonde and curly, with a modified expression on his face. Another is ginger with slight freckles and deeply shocked expression on the face. 

Fuck. Nothing in this world is between them? How could he forget? 

"Mick?" 

_Ian_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have guessed these 7-day scenes were 'calm before the storm'. Hope you will liked it.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About Lyosha

Okay. I wanted to explain the situation with Lyosha since it seemed a great idea at the beginning, but now I'm not sure that I can pull that off. Initially, Lyosha was created as a prototype of what Mickey would be like if he wasn't gay. Lyosha spends most of his time in Russian jails and used to be a minion in several Mafiosi gangs. Always had a love for the cooking but couldn't do it openly, because cooking was a women's duty, not men's, according to his gang-mates. When he got caught the last time he snitches on the entire gang and makes a deal with KGB. He leaves the country to work for his 'uncle', Alexandre, to avoid the revenge from his old gang. 

Now about Lyosha. He was an orphan in a small group of kids age varies from 7-15. The group was earning their bread by pickpocketing and stealing. You have to understand that it was criminal 90's in post-Soviet Russia. No job, no money, economical crisis. One day he picks into the wrong pocket and gets caught by Alexandre Martynov, nickname "Mart", member of Organized Criminal Group (OCG) called 'Obshak'. He takes Lyosha to his, so-called Bratva (brotherhood) and raises him as a mobster. Later on, he ( Alex) leaves mafia life, immigrates to the USA, and becomes an independent entrepreneur with chain Russian restaurants and Hotels. He is the one who helps Akexey run from the country and presents him as his nephew to society. Alexey is not his real name, by the way. It's a name of Alexandre's father (Alexandre Alexeyevich Martynov) 

  
Lyosha was growing up with the same believes as Mickey, but unlike Mickey, he didn't have much of a chance to doubt his beliefs, because, where he was raised, being outsider was risky for life. Now he has trouble with adaptation to the norms of mundane life. I wouldn't say that he is particularly trans/homophobic, but he has certain prejudice due to the lack of knowledge and experience. Falling in love with, who he thinks is trans woman, being the friend with a gay man (yes, I want him to befriend with Mickey), is suppose be a push for the development of him as a character, so he can start to reevaluate another individual believes he carries. 

I'm explaining it, in case I fail to present him in this particular way, so you could understand the motivation behind his actions. Or if I will be too lazy to actually explore his character 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finally meets Mickey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a big fan of Ian&Mickey (duh), but it's still pissing me off how the writers tried to end their relationship. I deeply hated how Ian trashed him in front of Caleb. That's why at first I was gonna write down hardcore angst resolution for Ian and Mickey, but just couldn't do it. It might be hard for some of you to keep reading the story, now that Ian is in the picture, especially to those who ship them (like I do). I just want you to know, that Ian will get his happy ending. Can't wait to tell you, but on its own time.

Sunday  
Lip's perspective 

The day didn't have a good start. This night he's spent in Gallagher residency. With Svetlana's contribution to the business the workload significantly decreased, and he didn't have any other excuse to stay at Mickey's place all the freaking time as he used to do and needed to visit home every now and then to soothe his conscience. He felt like an awful brother for not being as involved in his sibling's life as he supposes to be. He is eldest in the family, after all. Frank doesn't count. He is not family...nor human. But now, at least, he knows the shit happening in their lives. He has time to sit and just talk with them, without rushing out in the middle of the conversation or at least actually hear them. He can hang out with them more, and even partied with Carl once. Took Debbie and Franny to lunch a few times. Went shopping with Liam. But after all, the hanging out, talking and partying, when he goes to the bed in Gallagher house, on his lonely bed, he feels simply unsatisfied. The bed smells wrong, feels wrong, and too empty. He misses the warmth of Mickey's body by his side, his smell, and even unintentional kicks and punches in the middle of the night. It shouldn't be like this, but they already established that they both dwell on the hopeless ground, so no rules or right/wrongs can be applied to them. 

Sometimes it's not totally bad. He'd be too exhausted to care about where he is sleeping, what he is wearing, or even who he is. Other times, like today, he would restlessly roll from side to side, and wake up at shit in the morning because he found his right side of the bed empty. 

Yawning for the tenth time in a raw, but to no avail, he goes down to the kitchen where Debbie is feeding Franny. He put too much strength pulling the coffee decanter and spills the content of it all over his shirt. Luckily, the cheap second-handed coffeemaker never could keep shit actually hot. When he tosses the decant 

"It's for the bad luck," he hears Debbie's overly joy voice. She is feeding Franny and making her laugh in the process, so it's the joy that is not directed to him or his clumsiness. "Although you're a Gallagher, so things are shit for you either way," she turns to him. 

"Yeah, and I was scared that I won't be able to figure any positive sign out of it" He mumbles cleaning the mess he made. 

"Glad to be helpful." 

He reaches the restaurant later than he planned. Well, suck it. He is the boss here, he can let himself be lazy. Mickey can't be proud of him. Speaking of which, where the hell is he? He doesn't work today, but he's always here. Svetlana caught him in the hall.  
  
"Mushroom top," she acknowledges him. He doesn't correct her. No point. "you are late." 

"Had a little encounter with coffee-maker. It won." He jokes. 

"I ordered a new coffee machine. If I see you near it, I will cut your skin." 

"I think it won't be a problem." 

"Cooker is drunk." She informs him, irritated.

"Where?" 

"Toilet." He rushes to the restroom with Sveta following him behind. 

"He doesn't drink. What happened?"

"I don't know. He doesn't talk to me." She says 

"Okay, stay here. I'll try to figure out." she obeys.

He enters and it doesn't take long to spot Lyosha totally wasted, about to lose consciousness wasted, sitting on the ground next to the sink. 

"Hello, brother." He spots Lip, " Glad you are here. Come drink with me, yes?" He calls him, words incoherent and slurred. 

"The fuck is your problem, man? You have fucking idea of how unprofessional this is? There are people who rely on you." 

"I can work," he stubbornly announces, "Just let me... " he tries to stand up pulling the sink, but quickly loses the balance an lands on his ass."Urgh...errr..sorry Lip. I don't feel very good." 

Lip sighs. Well, that's his job, isn't it? To make sure that everyone feels good. He drops next to Lyosha who manages to take a sitting position leaning against the wall.

"What happened?" 

"Fucking love happened. Over ten years in this country never felt anything like this before. **Never**." He points his finger stressing the last word. 

"What's the problem then? People would give a lot to be in your place."

Lyosha laughs bitterly,"You don't understand. I am falling for someone I shouldn't." 

Lip waits for the explanation the least, but it doesn't follow. 

"When you say 'someone you shouldn't' you mean...?" 

"It's wrong. Unnatural." He says, and Lip can see how painful each word hits him. 

"Who says that?" 

"You won't understand. Back in Russia I could be dead if I only think about it." He waves him off.

"Actually," he runs his hand through his hair back and forth. That's gonna be a long-ass day. "I know a thing or two about falling for someone you shouldn't fall for." He sighs, "Not to be in control of your emotions, words, or even actions. To get used to the sad pain in the chest, because you can't fully claim that person, but feeling grateful for that pain because it covers the dull emptiness behind it." 

He gets lost in his speech and late to notice how intently Lyosha is glaring at him. 

"What?" 

"Mickey know?" 

"Knows what?" 

"That you cheat on him." He says, and quickly scolds "You do not cheat. It's not good. Even to someone like Misha. If you are a real man you will tell him the truth." 

Does he think that they are dating? Couple? He doesn't have time to process it. 

"Mushroom Top," Svetlana calls, entering the room and without skipping a beat says, "Ian is here."

Holy fuck. 

His feet take him out of the restroom before he acknowledges the full depth of the shit they are in. One glance, one mile-second is enough to ruin this card house Lip was bulling around Mickey this entire time. No, no, no, no. He feels his hair on hands standing up, and a painful twist in his gut. Not now. Not today. Too early. Little more time.

He reaches his office door, looking around on the way, trying to spot his personal disaster. He is not there, nor is Ian. 

"Ian," he calls to his brother who is standing in the hall, next to the new big plants, that are around the seats. It's Svetlana's idea. They didn't want to do booths, but the plants and partitions are supposed to give an illusion of privacy. 

At first glance, Ian didn't look nervous or anything, but couldn't be called fully relaxed either. He was keeping his hands in the pocket, while studying the tip of his shoes, stepping from one foot to another. 

"Ian," he calls him quickly reaching his side. He quick to lift his gaze at Lip. 

"Hey, man." He says, smiling halfheartedly. Right, technically they are still in the fight."What's up?"

"I'm good. Something happened?" He asks quickly checking the bar and the hall. Not there.

"No...I mean yeah. Ugh-." He speaks quickly."Things between you and me were real shitty for the past months. I mean, I could admit that I took it too far If you could...maybe meet me halfway. It's just..." He looks down. The words clearly don't come easy to him, and Lip think that if he wasn't so desperate to get rid of him, he would give him a hug or at least a pat on a shoulder.

"I know man. Me too. But right now, I'm really busy. Can we talk at home?" He tries not so apparently escort him to the exit. 

"I won't take lot of time, I swear. It's just I wanted to talk to you a long time ago, but you're never home."guilty," Or I was busy. Work was fucking crazy, man. Had to take double shift all the fucking time" He smiles and Lip feels like a total douche when he says. 

"Yeah, man. We really had to talk about it long ago. But right now isn't time."Ian's smile fades a bit,"My chef is dead drunk in the WC and I still have costumers to feed." He gestures to the tables.

"Okay," he smiles. Lip smiles back and, fuck it, gives him a tight hug slapping his back. Ian hugs him back with the same vigor. God, he missed this son of a bitch. 

"I gotta.," he says pointing to the exit.

"Yeah, you gotta.." Repeats his gesture, and Ian only makes a 45 degrees turn when it happens. 

"Gallagher!" 

Fuck.

Mickey's eyes scan the space quickly and then spots them. At first, he is hyper-focused, then it changes to a confused frown. With a blink of an eye, his face acquires a shocked expression. 

"Mick?" He hears Ian's voice next to him.

Brunet shifts his gaze to Lip and for a mil-second, there is deep hurt in the depth of his eyes, Lip feels his heart getting crushed in his chest. It's betrayal, that what his eyes express. He thinks that Lip brought him here. And Lip wants to grab him by his shoulders and shake this shit out of his head, erase this pain from his eyes because there is no fucking way he would do that to him. To anyone but him. 

Mickey gets out of his trance sharply inhaling the air. He looks around disoriented, searching for the way to retreat. He turns around and for a moment looking unsure which side to go: the left or the right. If he turns right, he ends up in the kitchen. On the left side, there are Lip's office, stuff room, and the bathroom at the very end of the corridor. Mickey chooses to turn left, and not speeding down a bit he stamps away. Lip catches the move on his right with the corner of his eyes when Ian moves forward to follow him. He vigorously presses his palm against his chest. Ian looks at him highly tensed and entirely bewildered. 

"No," he says firmly.

"But it's Mickey. Right there. It was Mickey." He splutters gasping. 

"I know," he tries to make his voice convincing."Let me talk to him first, Okay?" He nods confidentially. 

Ian doesn't reply, but gives one weak nod, followed by another more assured one. Lip turns around, gives a sign to Svetlana who blocks the way behind him in case Ian decides to follow. 

Lip finds him in the restroom, splashing with tap water. The loud snore of the passed out on the floor Lyosha was resonating from the tiled walls. Lip slowly approaches who Mickey bent down over the sink, droplets of water dripping from his chin. 

"You all right?" He asks quietly. His body is stone still when he rubs his face with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, Lip notices his hands trembling. 

"'m fine." 

He avoids looking at him. Lip tries to touch him. 

"I said I'm fine," 

There it is again. The hurt looks in his eyes. Lip hates it. It doesn't belong there. He feels a desperate need to erase it. To do something. But what can he do? He can't spin the time back. Can't erase Ian's memory. That's how he's worthless. 

"Did you...?" He tilts his head towards the wall behind which suppose to be located the hall.

"What?" then it hits him, "Call him? Brought him here to corner you?" 

Mickey nods with slowly growing embarrassment on his face. That what it's all about. 

"I...no!" he quickly gets a grip on himself, "I would never. Not to you." 'Anyone but to you' he thinks but decides to keep it to himself. He already said too much.

Mickey releases deep and sharp exhale, and all his body loses its initial forced solidity, tension. His eyes soften immediately looking deep into Lip's looking so relived, creating such a sharp contrast with what he looked like a moment ago. For a moment Lip thinks that his potential betrayal had more effect on him than Ian's sudden appearance.

"Of course you wouldn't. I..." He scratches the skin above his brow, looking down, "I just...saw you there...together...and I guess--"

"Come 'ere" 

Mickey steps into his space with no hint of hesitation. Lip puts his hands on his neck, thumbing his jaws, cheeks, lips. 

"I don't know how you feel. Can't even imagine." he brings their foreheads together, "It had to happen one day or another." 

He sees Mickey closing his eyes, absorbing what he says. 

"Mhm," he admits, reluctantly

"You have to go and talk to him." 

Mickey shakes his head, immediately opening his eyes. 

"No," steps away shaking his head more vigorously. "No" 

"Mickey, listen to me."

"No!" He turns away. 

"Mickey there is no way to go. He is right there in the hall." He explains to him."He is not going anywhere." 

"Yeah well, I am going then." with that he walks towards the opposite side, where Lyosha is snoring unbothered under the small window. 

"You can't run forever," he points out, calmly.

"Yeah? Watch me!"

"And what you gonna do? Leave the country," 

"Don't underestimate me. I might have changed gun to a paintbrush, but I still have top-notch shady adepts on my speed dial," 

"We...will a serious talk about it later." Lip mumbles, more for himself. 

"Helpmeouthere...oh, wait don't bother." He steps on still peacefully sleeping Russian man, opens the window. Is he fucking serious? 

"A...Are you drunk?" it hits him finally. How the fuck didn't he notice? 

"You are drunk!" he snaps back, and with a grace of cow on the ice climbs his way out of the room. 

"Mickey, you are not serious," Lip states, obviously with no effect. Mickey is a dramatic, stubborn son of a bitch, but drunk Mickey was taking this shit to the high new level. 

Mickey yells something back but it comes muted and inexplicit.  
  
"What?!" 

Another jabber. Lip can't distinguish a word.

"Wh--Stay where you are standing. Or hang where you are hanging. Whatever."

He sprints across the hall, notices Ian with Yev on his side who excitedly tells him something with his childish immediacy, pushing his tablet right to his nose. Ian catches sight of Lip and stands up, but Lip quickly gives him a sign to sit back. Yev chooses the perfect time to call for his attention, giving Lip time to keep his way to the backdoor. He runs toward the wall, separating street with the restroom, thorough which, to LIp's relief Mickey was still struggling his way out. 

"Mickey, please, hear me out. I don't want you to fucking run like you are the one who fucked up. Because, no. You did nothing wrong. You hear me. "

Mickey sighs and relaxes on the frame of the window. He scratches the skin above his right brow nervously. 

"I just...I just stuck, man."

"Yeah, dude. That sucks." He provides, sympathetically.

"No. I mean I literally stuck. This fucking window is too fucking small." He complains, pushing out some more to demonstrate the severeness of his position. "See?" 

And true. The frame is tightly pressed around his waist, half of his body is hanging out, and the rest is still inside. 

"You stuck in the window frame." He states trying to hold his voice as serious as possible. 

"Don't." his face takes a painful look, "Don't you fucking dare." He warns, but Lip is already failing to hide his giggles that threaten to turn into a full-range laugh. Lip feels his face is burning because of the amount of effort he puts on it.

Mickey huffs, and wiggles to take a more comfortable position, which probably didn't help. 

"That's all because some stupid restaurants have small-ass windows," he says looking down to his belly, but gets distracted by the sounds that distinctively like a taking a photo sound."Bitch! Did you just take a photo?" 

"What? No" Lip quickly dismisses, hiding his phone back into the pocket. 

"You, dickhead. I swear if this photo will be seen by any fucking living being, I will shave your stupid head in your fucking sleep." 

"Pfft. Bring on the table something solid. We both know that you love my hair way too much to actually bring your threats to life" he says, smirking. 

Mickey scowls, but the reddishness on his cheeks is more authentic. 

"I hate you," Lip just grins, "No, really. I fucking hate you. The only reason why I'm still talking to you is that I stuck and don't have much of a choice here." 

"Oh, trust me. I'd rather too have a private te-tat-tet with your bottom part. Pleasure would be ours." and, yeah. Lip is totally flirting. Not a time. Not a place. But, just can't fucking help it. 

Mickey blushes even more. God, he is cute.

The backdoor opens and Svetlana goes out with trash bags on both of her hands. She notices them only after she gets rid of those bags. Her gaze shifts from Lip to Mickey and back, then she throws her head back and just laughs her ass off. She doesn't hold a little bit of it. Just laughs loudly and openly. Mickey waits till her attack is over with a stone face.

"Aren't you suppose to be somewhere else?" He says dryly.

"Yeah, I'll say Yev a good news. His father is Vigny-The-Pooh." She walks away still shaking with giggles. 

Mickey glares back at Lip.

"Get me out of here. Now" 

"Love when you are bossy."

Mickey scowls.

"Fine" he laughs."But you see the only way out of this frame is back. Which is where Ian is expecting you." He points out. 

Mickey sighs. 

"Then I'll stay here forever." 

The sad seriousness washes the smile away from Lip's face. 

"You really don't want to face him that much?" he states."But what if it's the chance. To put the end in this story. To have a closure." 

"That's fucking rich coming from a person who spent the good half of his life ghosting girls he banged" 

And, that's true. Lip feels ashamed for being a hypocrite because Mickey is not wrong. He is the last person who says him what to do. Even though he just hoped that if Ian and Mickey would officially call it the end, he and Mickey would have more chances to give it a go. But that's not for him to decide. He drops his head and brushes his hair with his hand, clenching his fingers on the roots. 

"Yeah. Sorry." 

He takes the nearest wooden box they use for vegetable and places it right under Mickey's window and steps on it, above the ground and reaching the level of his face. 

"I shouldn't have pressured you." He holds both sides of his face looking into the blue depth of his eyes. Mickey holds his breath.

"Shouldn't have," he confirms sullenly. 

"Just wanted this whole shit to be over. Ya know. Close the chapter," he brushes his lips with his own, feeling the hot breath speeding up by his skin."And maybe open a new one." He looks down on his lips, "But you shouldn't do it if you don't want to. Okay?" 

Mickey nods, capturing his lips kissing him deeply, and maybe because of their position, when anyone can catch them any moment, because of the circumstances they are in or because of an unspoken fear of the changes that are about to come they both feel, the kiss turns out to be intensive, passionate and captivating. At the end of it, they both out of breath, respiring heavily mile-inch apart, lips still brushing each other, breathing one air, heart beating in unison. 

"Now. I will escort Ian, you can come out in 10. Okay?" He says, breathless after the kiss. 

Mickey takes time to actually understand the words those lips made but nods eventually. 

"Good. Now watch out!" 

Mickey frowns slightly, but before he can do anything Lip pushes him back into the restroom and hears him fall onto the ground. He doesn't hold himself a bit when he curses Lip out. 

When he goes back to the hall where he left his brother hanging Lip feels a relief. He didn't lie. He really wanted them to have a postponed closure, so maybe, maybe! Lip can have his try with him. But discrete part of him, the one that is on constant denial, was terrified by the perspective of Ian going back into Mickey's life. Lip was there. He saw it. He can't compete with that. No matter how certain he is about the bond between him and Mickey, he doesn't want to test it. 

Ian stands up from his place and looking behind him, and then back at him questioningly. 

"Where is he? Where is Mick?" He says looking a bit agitated. 

And Lip feels a heaviness, just like all those times when he had to explain to him why their mother's mood changes all the time, or why their father doesn't go to work like other kids' fathers. 

"I ...Ian-" 

"Mickey," Ian calls again looking to the Lip's back, making him look in the same direction and, yes, it is Mickey. What is he doing here? Mickey swagly walks to them, frowning and his hands fisted.

"One talk," he says Lip, ignoring Ian's dazed stare."One talk and you get the fuck off my back." 

Lip smiles at him wondering what made him change his mind?

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Ian and Mickey are sitting across each other at one of the tables. Lip is standing five feet away from them. Not too close, not to intrude their privacy; and not too far, cause this shit can get out of hand real quick. 

"You look good. Has changed a lot. And glasses. Make you look like a hipster." He lets out a breathy laugh."I knew that you're out. I just...they said that it was my imagination, almost convinced me. But I knew. I felt it." 

Mickey is just sitting there with expressively poker face and his hands crossed, and stubbornly doesn't say anything. 

"I see that you're mad at me, maybe even hate me, and you have all rights," Ian mumbles quickly, and Lip wants to feel bad for him, he really does. But he knows that as long as Ian in his denial, there is nothing to work with. "Mick, if you could just hear me out, you'd see that everything I did was for the best and-" 

Mickey rises up madly fast, making Ian cut the speech and look at him worriedly. His face is red. Lip sees how hard his jaw muscles work, and hands are tightly clenched into the fist. For a moment he's confident that Ian is about to get a punch. But Mickey just shifts his eyes from Ian to Lip and frowns. He doesn't know what is he thinking, but, God, he would give a right arm to know what is going on in his mind at this precise moment.  
Meanwhile, Mickey sits back, slaps his down on the table his demanding Ian's never left attention. 

"Okay. Listen up here, Nancy Drew, because I won't fucking repeat myself. Ever. Again. I don't fucking hate you. I don't fucking love you. I nothing you." He pauses, taking a deep breath and continues less sharply, "But so happened that you are a permanent part of Lip's life (Ian confused looks back at Lip who doesn't tear his eyes from Mickey) and I'm planning to be in his life for a while ( he throws at Lip quick glance), which means we have to find a way to coexist. And I don't want to hear your shit. Never. Nod if you got me." Ian nods." And, no. We are not friends, barely acquaintances. Got it?" Another nod."Okay. Fine. I agree to tolerate your ass." stretches his hand towards Ian, who with a delay clumsily shakes it. 

And, Oh. Lip is touched. Lip feels him. But the fear is still there because now there is no way back.

"I'm not mad, ya know." Ian says later, while Mickey is helping Kev to move Lyosha from the floor." For not telling the truth. I understand why you were so mad. He is your friend." He smiles. 

"Right, friend" he mumbles. 

"He talks to me because of you, so thanks, man." He bumps his shoulder against him, jokingly."I'm glad that you are friends now. Don't get me wrong, it was a blower. But a good one." 

Lip nods, because he doesn't feel like saying anything. 

"And you should come back home." 

Lip raises his eyebrows in question. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I didn't see you at home since our fight. Thought maybe you don't want to see me, or shit. Come home." 

"Right," Lip's heart clenches, "Home." 

He looks at Mickey who swears loudly at Kev. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"I bet you 50 buck they will bang by the end of the month," Kev smirks standing next to him, unaware that he vocalized his fears.

They are watching Ian and Mickey packing Lyosha to the sofa in the staff room. He is too heavy to take him any further. 

"Why?" He frowns.

"Come on, man" he looks at him,"It's Ian and Mickey. They fight, they fuck. That's their version of romance." 

It's Ian and Mickey. It's Ian and Mickey. Right. There is no room for anyone other than Ian and Mickey. 

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes and misconnections belong to my lazy ass (like you don't already know it)


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really hard to write, mostly because I couldn't fully think it through. I didn't know what dynamic I should build for Mickey and Ian. Sorry for the long update.

Lip is ghosting him... or not. He can't say for sure, but things are fuzzy as fuck since Ian showed his ginger ass in the hall a few days before. To his embarrassment, Mickey doesn't remember that day all clear because he was wasted plenty when he presented in front of those two. How the hell was he planning on asking Lip out with a brain processing with molasses slowness, is a mystery of the century. But the fact is that all shots of tequila he breathed in hit him right to the core exact moment when he realized who was standing next to the curly guy.   
  
The kiss is the clearest memory he can dig out of his mind. The lips on his own, brushing slowly, sucking greedily and then stroking skin-deep, making Mickey melt like marshmallow, slowly and viscously. Then there was a fall and bruised ass as a result.  
  
He vaguely recalls recognizing shades of doubts in Lip's face, but he chose to ignore it, especially after Lip came the very same night, sweeping him off the floor to the bedroom. He had to suspect that something was off. Had to, but when the hands held him tightly, while lips were doing implausible things, he didn't stand a chance. Lip is always passionate in bed, but that time he brought something indescribable into their bed, that's for sure. Fully given in to the instincts, he took him torturously slowly that night, savoring every inch of his body, like all the time of this universe, was granted for them. Mickey remembers feeling overwhelmed, grilling in this sweet jouncing agony, limbs becoming watery, refusing to obey. He doesn't know what got into him, or how to summon him again, many times again.  
  
An empty bed the following morning brought him a bitter-sweet aftertaste that he naturally ignored. Lip didn't comment on his sudden departure when they met at work and Mickey didn't bring that up for many reasons, but mostly he was horrified to hear what Gallagher had in mind. Little did he know that it was the last time Lip stepped his foot on Mickey's apartment.  
  
The days after things between him and Lip seemed normal on the surface. They are talking, they are smoking, they are laughing, Lip is teasing him and Mickey is telling him to go fuck himself. All the same, except for the permanent ghost of Ian Gallagher invariably hovers over them all the fucking time. Mickey pretends not to see Lip's sighs, long stares into space, or how he is distancing away from him each and every day. Ignoring is something he has down to fine art.   
  
Dr. Weber asked curiously about Ian and about Mickey's feelings about him and the answer is...he doesn't know. Nothing. Dull emptiness. The vast majority of his concern is concentrated on the changes that his appearance will bring, for his relationship with Lip in particular. He felt annoyed, mostly. Yeah, that's more accurate. Irritated. He agreed to be in the neutral zone with him but it doesn't mean he was thrilled about the prospect of having him in his life. But he assumed that it wouldn't kill him to witness his dumb-ass once in a while, as far as they don't have a deep conversation about how his feelings are wrong and he needs to be told how to feel. Fuck him. He got through years of torturous therapy to be himself and he is not trading it to soothe his poor-ass conscience. He doesn't mention the fully consuming fear he not very successfully suppresses, and that manages to follow him in his nightmares. It starts differently each time, but the end is always the same. Ian takes him away from Mick, and Mick can't do shit about it.   
  
He enters the restaurant hoping to see Gallagher today. He didn't see him for days now. He can't say if he is avoiding him since it's the middle of December and holidays are right around the corner. Besides Thanksgiving and Christmas, they are going to celebrate New Year, Russian Christmas, Orthodox New Year, several other celebrations from the same orchestra, a couple of christening, and one wedding (yeah, now the arrange weddings). He kinda gets how Lip can be busy the whole fucking time, considering the consumption amount of food and alcohol is gonna surplus formidably. Additionally to that their fiscal year falls on the holidays, so they have to report annual and semi-annual finances. But, Mickey still can't get rid of the feeling like he is digging for excuses to cover him.  
  
He doesn't see Lip but spots redhead sitting on the stool at the bar sipping what looks like an ice-tea.  
  
"Hey, Mick." He says, half coyly.  
  
Mickey passes him by and positions himself at the counter bending towards Kev who is wiping glasses with honed motions. He has another Gallagher he needs to deal with first.  
  
"You seen Gallagher?"  
  
Kev points to Ian raising his brows up.  
  
"Hey, Mick," he says, again reminding about his presence.  
  
"Not this one. The previous edition."  
  
"Lip? He is gone after some decoration shit. Christmas tree or something. Said will be back in a couple."  
  
Fuck  
  
"When was that?"  
  
"Twenty minutes ago. He came with Ian." He points to the ginger again and leaves to the kitchen hanging the piece of cloth over his shoulder.  
  
That's how things work now. Before Lip was dragging him around, occupying his life like he has nothing else to do, but now Mickey has to take a line to see him.  
  
"Hey, Mick." He hears again next to him once again as if he missed two first greetings. He looks at Ian who offers a smile when he gets his attention.  
  
"Ian," he acknowledges him and leaves.  
  
Ian doesn't leave the whole day. To his silent question, Lana informs that red volunteered to help with hall decoration and they need extra hands now and need free extra hands always. He just shrugged. Lip didn't appear that day at all and that was all he could think of. He definitely is not avoiding him. He is just busy. Just fucking busy.  
  
They finished decorating the hall closer to the evening time. He caught a couple of stares from Ian, who was helping Sveta, in those short moments when Mickey wasn't lost in his thoughts. He brushed it off. He's changed plenty in these years, he knows it. Old Milkovich wouldn't fall so low, serving someone a food unless it's served with arsenic sauce. Kev's jaw didn't leave the floor for a few first days of his work.  
  
"Sveta said you do college now. That's amazing." Ginger-head arises from nowhere, placing ginger ass on a bar stool, where Mickey was hanging out for half an hour now. His shift was over an hour ago, but he still hoped to spot Lip first, when steps into the hall.  
  
"Never imagined I'll say those words. Proud of you." Ian continues ignoring Mickey's ignore. Proud of him? And that actually gives him a shiver caused by a sensible pinch in the chest. No, he refuses to go there, so he moves to leave. "Wait, wait. Mick. Listen up, I thought...I think that maybe we could be as friends. We were friends. Do you know? Before."  
  
If there was any sympathy left for him Mickey would at least put some effort to be less bitter when he says."Friends? Hm." he makes a thinking face,"But I don't need a friend. What can we do? That's how it works. When I was rotting in prison, I needed a friend and you didn't. Now, you see, you want to be friends and I don't need one."  
  
And he doesn't feel sorry when he sees the hurt expression on his face. But he doesn't enjoy it either. That's not what he wants. He doesn't want revenge. He wants things to be back like they were just a week ago.  
  
"Mickey-"  
  
"Nah-ah-ah" he holds his index requesting a silence, and expressively takes out his earphones, puts them on, turns the music on, and volumes the sound all the way up, his eardrum about to explode. But the message is delivered, as Ian holds both hands in surrender.  
  
He goes home that day without seeing Lip. Maybe he could have been easier on Ian but he has no desire to play social politeness when his life might be falling apart right in front of his eyes. He expected not to see Nancy Drew for quite a long after his 'mean girls' level attitude but he, apparently, was wrong because he sees him the very next day, and two days after that, and oncoming Tuesday and many more days then he has fucking signed up for. Mickey wondered if Ian has anything to do but work his ass off at work for zero-rated payment. Sveta just shrugged, saying that she is not that stupid to decline a free workforce. In contrast, Lip was disappearing from his vision with ninja worthy mastery, preferring to barricade himself in the office. They barely exchange a couple of sentences, as he is quick to excuse himself and leaves puzzled Mickey open and closing his mouth with bewilderment. As if he didn't have enough on his plate, it was the end of the semester and Mickey has a handful of exams he needed to prepare for. The timing couldn't be worse.  
  
The lunch has passed and Lip hasn't eaten horse shit since morning. Should he go to check up on him? When he works he easily loses the track of time.  
  
An electrified tension enwraps him, which turns out to be an unnatural silence surrounding the space around him. He is (trying to) inventorying booze in the bar. He is still short for 8 bottles of bourbon and a gallon of beer. Svetlana and Ian were talking in the background, with Kev constantly coming and going. The sudden pause attracts his attention, and them staring at him all eyes is what he sees when he instinctively looks up. With a suspicion he looks back in case that's where he is also supposed to be looking at along with them, but no, nothing's there.   
  
"What?" He asks narrowing eyes.  
  
Three of them exchange glances but Svetlana, ironically, turns out to have the biggest balls among.  
  
"Carrot Top accidentally say about his boyfriend and now he is a chicken about it."  
  
Mickey lets out a half relieved half tired sigh.  
  
"oh no how could you do this to us. how dare you to date, someone, only after eight years after our break up." He provides a rant, wryly without any intonation, stress or pitch in his speech. Still short for eight bottles of bourbon."Do you have a box of bourbon under your side," he asks Svetlana.  
  
She checks and, bingo, passes him the box. Kev gets a call from the kitchen and leaves.  
  
"I mean...I wasn't sure that you will be ok...I don't know how *I* would react," he offers, awkwardly brushing the back of his head.  
  
One, two, three...eight. Perfect. Eight bottles.   
  
Seems like Svetlana tries herself as an olive branch because she says: "No problem. We do a test. He has a boyfriend too."  
  
"The fuck, bitch! I don't recall hiring you as my fucking spokesperson. Get the fuck off my hair, will ya?"  
  
Her confidence in his and Lip's relationship status is fucking unbreakable.   
  
"You have a boyfriend?" Ian asks and looks, no not disappointed, surprised.  
  
"Why? I can't have a fucking boyfriend?" He asks with a challenge.  
  
"No, of course, you can. Just didn't expect you to want one."  
  
"Well I didn't expect a lot of things from you, but here we are." he continues before any of them can say something or his passive aggression returns with a new force."If someone orders goulash, say that we are out of that." he says to the Kev who walks away with a menu."I'm taking the last one for the astronaut before he gets lost in his mind space."  
  
Mickey doesn't knock when he enters with a tray of food. Lip is not working anyway, just staring into the space in front, eyes are tired. He brushes his fingers against the redness of his lips shifting Mickey's gaze to them, as he gulps.  
  
"Mickey," he calls him by name almost surprised like he wasn't sure if it indeed was him.  
  
"No. Martha fucking Stewart. Who the fuck were you expecting?" He says without any annoyance behind his words.  
  
Lip's eyes light up like he is about to say something cocky or flirt his way out, but it disappears as fast as it appeared.  
  
"Yeah, you're right." he says, bashfully."What are you doing here?"  
  
"Exercising compassion by not letting your pity ass starve to death."  
  
And here is the sparkle again and Mickey just doesn't get it. It looks like he wants to say something but suppresses an urge the very last moment.   
  
"Thanks. Put the tray on the coffee table."   
  
Mickey does as he was told. Before leaving he takes his time to actually look at him. Now that he lost his privilege to see him for more than 12 seconds, he wants to take his time to just observe him. It's been nine days but he missed this motherfucker more than anything. He scans his face and it's hard not to notice how he visibly lost weight. There are two big round circles around his eyes and his slouching like it physically exhausts him to hold his body posture upright. Lip looks up, feeling that Mickey is still there.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Don't you sleep at all?" he asks curiously.  
  
Lip looks a bit taken aback by the question as if Mickey accidentally hit the nail to the head by just asking it.  
  
"I...it's insomnia. Can't sleep well. It will pass away. Eventually." And manically starts to type something on the computer, clacking loudly, which leaves Mickey nothing else to do but leave. He might have imagined that the keyboard clicking sound stops immediately after he closes the door. He's fine. He is fine. They just need some time apart. Everything is gonna be fine.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
  
*The modernist optimism that had dominated in a pre-war world now seemed irrelevant, outdated and doomed to fail. Europe was no longer the center of modern art or the avant-garde. The focus of the art world now moved to New York City and to the Abstract Expressionists who were flourishing in a new era of reinvigorated post-war capitalism.*  
  
Fuck, he is about to fall asleep. How people read this shit without passing out. If there is a hell somewhere, this is certainly gonna be his personal torture down there. How does this shit suppose to help him to draw better? He yawns loudly, stretching his hands and rubs his neck.  
  
They are in the middle of pre-holiday slowness and don't have many customers besides the regulars, that's why he impudently occupied one of the hybrid booths and reads (tries to) his textbook.  
  
"Mickey!" He hears Svetlana  
  
"Yo!" He responds, not lifting his head from the textbook.  
  
"We have costumer on your table."  
  
He rushes to put aside his textbook, caressing his apron on his way to the main hall. Everyone can say the fuck they want. Mickey is not ace waiter, but he is fucking professional, that's for sure.  
  
"There," Svetlana points her manicured finger towards the hall, where a lonely redhead was sitting at the table, patiently waiting like some teacher's bitch from all-girls boarding school.  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" He says in disbelief, looking around to Svetlana.  
  
"He pays, he is a customer." She shrugs  
  
"Send Kev to him. Don't give me this shit." He demands  
  
"He is sitting on your table and Kev is busy."  
  
"I am not fucking serving that asshole" he folds crosses his arms, stubbornly. 

"Why? Afraid you and him back together again?"

"Pfft. No." 

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't like him." he hisses 

"You don't like every customer. That's not news. Or maybe there is something more?" she imitates his position, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Fine! Hand me the menu"

  
And that is how this shits starts to get really annoying.

"Hello, sir. My name is Micky and I am serving you today. Would you like to order something?" Mickey says, monotonously.

"What would you recommend? I personally have never eaten here, but heard only positive feedbacks about this place." He holds his grin.

"Fucking awesome. Hope you like your food served with spit on it." He mumbles, but by the widened eyes Ian made, words didn't remain unheard. Mickey raises his eyebrows, with a challenge, but Ian offers a tentative smile in return. Ugh. Whatever. He's been warned. He is trying very hard to ignore Ian's puppy eyes and lame-ass efforts to 'casually chat' and, honestly, he could see himself forgiving his petty ass someday far in the future if he just apologized like a normal human being and didn't act like whatever Mickey went through wasn't a big fucking deal. Like if Mickey was overreacting. Because it is a big deal and Mickey is not overreacting. He really doesn't want to make a scene of whatever, but he can't help to meet Ian's reconciliation efforts with non-discrete passive aggression. Not like Mickey is day and night working his ass off taming his anger, but Ian always being on the frontlines makes things worse. Cut out of sex after getting laid with sufficient regularity doesn't really brighten up his mood either.

Christmas Eve Mickey reaches the apogee of his devastation. Mickey didn't realize how much of Lip's attention he possessed until he was left without any. After Ian started showing his ass around with the religious diligence of a Shaolin monk, Lip completely disappeared from the metaphorical periphery of his vision. The hope he was cherishing about things getting back to the way they used to slowly vanishes with Mickey's aspiration to simply get out of the bed. If before he could afford to come ups with mildly believable excuses, now he's left with nothing. It was getting more than clear that the whole Mickey/Lip thing was prescribed to be doomed from the start. Mickey is an idiot for letting himself to believe that there can be something more. He is fucking straight. Look at him. After his first relationship, it took him years to actually build himself from scratch and to become approximately somewhat what he used to be, but it took another Gallagher to turn him into a wimpy-pussy. That's how pathetic he is. He hates himself sometimes. And now to make things even more awkward Mickey dragged his ass here with a paper-wrapped canvas massively hanging on his hand. It's supposed to be a Christmas gift, for you know who...

Milkovich wasn't a family that practiced gift exchanging. At least, not in a generally known sense. But now that he is trying to overgrow his South Side white-trash persona, he is learning to enjoy little earthly things that he was lacking growing up. He got Svetlana 'Bitch boss' self-stirring mug, and Yes got his present by cash (which is his request. He is saving money for some fancy-ass school trip.) A present for one curly asshole was prepared two months ago, but now in the light of past events, it can do more harm than good. It was a painting he made right after Lip let his ass beaten by those suckers in the alley and Mickey needed a way to express his anger since he couldn't do it directly to the source of his distress.

Mickey wasn't particularly good at painting, he preferred pencils, coal, and chalk, but this acrylic motherfucker is something Mickey definitely wasn't ashamed of. He depicted Lip as an Atlas, bearing the sky on his shoulders. His muscles are tensed under the backbreaking weight, droplets of sweat are shining here and there, smoothing the texture of his skin, but his face is just a masterpiece. Supposed to be symbolic, but now he is half certain that he is gonna scare him away. He'll think that Mickey is some creep, which is the case, but not the point.

His walk to work was another type of disaster. On his way he neurotically turned back home just to spin around and to continue his initial route at least three times and once almost frantically throw the canvas into the dumpster nearby, when he saw some curly dude that didn't even look like Lip (he was brunet), walking in his direction. He was getting more and more paranoid about this shit and as a result, his 10 minutes walk turned into 25, he received a handful of unnecessary stares and one threat to an old bat from his side. Old women tend not to like him.

He rapidly flashed across the hall, before people can get a chance to make a sound. He frantically works his way to his locker, regretting dragging this shit all the way here, with all his existence. Why in this fucking universe he though it was a good idea? Lip doesn't even want to see him, and he totally will think Mickey is obsessed with him. He swiftly opens his locker door and almost misses the moment when a white plastic bag falls out of it and lands on his feet. What the fuck? It was inside his locker?

He slowly lifts the bag, placing the canvas onto the locker shelf. Looks left and right, in case someone appears from nowhere to claim ownership, but the staff room is dull empty. It's heavier than he expects, so he opens it out of curiosity.

Inside he finds a sketchbook. Expensive, in a leather cover supposed to be for no practical purpose but aesthetic. When he turns the book over, studying it, the yellow card with his name on it catches his attention. If it wasn't obvious when it fell from his locker to his feet, now it was clear that the bag is addressed to Mickey. But who put it there? Svetlana? She bought him an ugly 'my ex got half of my testicles after divorce' sweater. Yev made him a mobile easel in his carpentry class. Is that...is that Lip? The hope involuntarily like a beaten bye-dog appears on the horizon, but now resonating painfully in his chest.

Alex enters the room and without slowing, the pace goes to his locker.

"Hey, man. Did you give me this shit?" He lifts the sketchbook

"Do I look like I give presents on catholic Christmas?" he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You did to Svetlana," he bought her over-priced jewelry shit you suppose to carry on your wrist...or ankle. Whatever, not his expertise.

The comment radically changes his expression, making him flush in embarrassment. He clears his throat nervously.

"Maybe it's chief? He was walking around here right before you came. Was looking for you." He says on his way out.

Lip was here. Lip was here and was looking for him. His heart pounds manically. Lip was here and left him a gift. Of course, it was him. Who else has access to his locker? The excitement about perspective and fear of misinterpretation possibility is the right combo to break his ribcage, setting his heart free to the big wild world.

What should he do now? He has to thank him, right? His eyes shift on the canvas. No. Mickey, no. Bad idea. NO! Bad Mickey, no!

But, lovesick Mickey is in charge now, and he is fucking faster. He grabs the gift and presses it to his chest, and he feels so charged that if someone tries to lay a finger on the painting, he bites that finger off with the hand that it's attached to, with no hesitation. Fully determined he allows himself a pause to take a deep breath only before the door at the office, before entering without knocking as always. He is not at the office, which he decides is ideal. He wants him to like the present but he'd be too embarrassed to lift his eyes when Lip opens it. He'll leave it here. On...on..uh, on the chair. He won't miss it.

He feels tingling under his skin when he leaves the room. He is proud of himself, and even can't help but tell it in his coming therapy session. Dr. Webber gonna be proud of his grown-ass man's behavior. 

"Mick," the voice catches him in halfway to the kitchen.

"Mhm," it's Ian.

"Hey, I won't take a long," he says, cautiously. That's how he always talks to him. Cautiously. Like with a dumb wild animal, that he is trying to tame.

"Wuttup?" He nods. Why not. He is in a good mood.

"Did you get it?"

"Your sense of humor? No, man. I'll need more than just ten years to get that shit," he giggles. Ian lights up Mickey's apparent bright mood.

"No," he smiles, warmly "The sketchbook. Did you find it?"

Mickey's face falls.

"How do you...?"

"I left it in your locker. That was your locker, right?"

..........

"That was you!" Mickey exclaims loudly, with a raising panic. "That was...Fuck,"

"Yeah. What-?"

"I...I need to run."

Mickey quickly, like his life depends on it, sprints towards the office pushes the door forcefully from himself. But the room is no longer empty. He finds Lip standing in front of his desk, holding the paint in front of him with an unreadable expression. He created this painting, he watched more time than it was necessary, he knows exactly what Lip was seeing. The drops of sweat, muscles, face, the strong accents he made on them. It was his perception of Lip. Too personal perception of Lip.

Lip stops scanning and looks up when he realizes he is no longer alone in the room. And even though, the damage has been made, Mickey in three big steps cuts the distance between them and snaps the canvas out of his hand.

"Sorry, it...eh..it was nothing...Just ignore it...I" he goes backwards towards the door, grabbing the item with both hands. Lip surprised walks around his desk and approaches mumbling nonsense, Mickey. "You weren't supposed to...Uh...I will get another present."

Mickey raises his eyebrows, pending a dismissal that doesn't follow. Lip instead places both of his hands on both edges and tears it off Mickey's hands.

"Mine!" He says, unceremoniously.

Mickey gapes at him, not sure how to react, and he doesn't have a chance to decide.

"Thank you...I..it was.."Lip blushes, scratching his lower lip.  
Mickey's eyes widen watching the redness on his face. Blushing Lip is the rarest phenomenon, like polar lights brightening Texas in the middle of fucking July. "I got you something."

He fishes out an envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket, looking agitated, avoiding looking into his eye.

"Wasn't sure how to give...And, it's nothing...Just...Just open it."

Mickey slowly opens it. And honestly, he expects the shit like 'donation was made in your name' or 'tree was planted in your name' but what he doesn't expect is a postcard...no wait two identical postcards from Italy.

"Uhm. Thanks?"

Lip rolls his eyes.

"Turn it over."

Mickey obeys, and there are reads: passenger's name (empty), destination (Italy)...Holy fucking Christ! He bought him a ticket to Italy.

"Holy fucking Christ! You bought me a ticket to Italy." He exclaims.

"No." He makes a weak effort to cover satisfied grin, "I bought you two tickets to Italy, so you stop bitching about how the pictures don't show what is whole fuss is about-"

Mickey kisses him. Of course, he kisses him. He snogs into him, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Mickey takes his shock as reluctance to kiss back and is about to pull back, when strong hands grab him by the collar, slamming his back against the wall and catching his lips with his own. Mickey is on cloud nine. His body reacts instantly, reacting responsively to every touch, kiss, breath. He lets his fingers brush into his hair, digging into the scalp, pulling him closer. Lip lets out a half snarl, half moan, and pushes Mickey up, almost lifting him against the wall. That really turns Micke on, he shamelessly whimpers something unarticulated.

"Fuck me," he breathes out.

And that breaks the spell. Lip tears himself from Mickey, reluctantly, putting enormous effort.

"I... We can't.." He says, panting heavily.

"Why not?" Mickey squeaks, desperately.

"I wish," he looks fixedly at Mickey's lips, hypnotized, but then shakes his head off, "You need to leave," then adds, "please."

And before Mickey does anything pushes him out of the room. What the fuck has just happened?

Mickey looks at the tickets in his hands and back at the door. He clenches into the doorknob. Locked. Huh. How childish. Not like Mickey would rape him, or something. But his reaction. Whatever bullshit he got into his beautiful head, it didn't change the fact that his body wanted him. Mickey sighs deeply with relief and even let himself a small smile. The war is not over and turns out Mickey has something up his sleeve. He can work with that. Mickey is not gonna hesitate to play dirty. It's his second skin. Oh, it's gonna be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Throughout the chapter, Mickey is slowly discovering back his anger directed to Ian. He's gonna snap in the next chapter.  
> 2) Lip is being insecure and miserable.  
> 3) He loved the painting.  
> 4) Thank you for reading this fic. It means a world to me.  
> 5) And here is the Lip/Mickey video I'm in love with. Please, check it out: [I'M PARALYZED](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyHmDYJfqtI&feature=emb_title)


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is chasing Lip and trying to escape Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys for not updating so long. I had several reasons. 
> 
> 1) personal stuff.  
> 2) It is the longest chapter of all. It's like an anaconda among other chapters.  
> 3) it was extremely hard to write about Ian& Mickey, and you will know why. Lip&Mickey's storyline was written in two seconds. Ina&Mickey on the other hand...Let's say, I got myself into a deep freaking depression in the process, but all for your entertainment.  
> 4) Didn't want to make Ian a villain  
> 5) Didn't want to make Ian excuses.  
> 6) Didn't want to let Mickey stuck in his hate. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading!!!!!! Really hope you enjoy it. Thank you for your comments, kudos and for not abandoning this fic.

  
This is the end, isn't it?

He makes a deep sharp breath in and shaky breaths out, feeling his eyes generously getting filled with tears. There is a painful ball of sorrow strives to come up as loud sobs but the tight knot around his throat doesn't allow any sound out. 

This is the end. The end of the whole fucking shitquest. 

He can't believe that's how he gonna finish this fucking story. But that's it, isn't it? It's the end. Finish. El Fin. Das Ende. And there is no one he can blame but himself. 

"Is that a honey cake?" Asks Ian worriedly coming from Mickey's bedroom, looking at Mickey who is sitting on the floor over the cake with a tenderness of a mother over her child. 

"Apology cake," he whispers, shutting his eyes so hard that it hurts his eyelids. He came to apologize. 

This is the fucking end.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
**Day 1 or attempt not to kill Ian part 1**

  
"Hello, sir. My name is Micky and I am serving you today. Would you like to order something?" Mickey says, monotonously his opening line, while he tries not to tempt himself with the idea of transferring water from the carafe to ginger head.

"Hey, Mick." He smiles, "I got a day off. How you feeling today" 

"Magnificent. Make your order before I explode with joy from your presence." He mutters. 

"Today, my niece, Franny, drew-"

"Is it a long story? I have other tables to serve." 

Ian looks around almost comical confusion written on his face.

"Eh...this place is empty." He states. 

Which is true. It's early Monday morning and the only table that is occupied is by this dumbass. 

"What's your point?" 

"Uh...Uhm. What I just said?" He says weakly, sounding not sure. 

Mickey already has three comebacks and even closes his guest check pad, when the raspy sound of Svetlana meaningfully clearing her throat resonates in the empty hall. He looks at her to face a 'Client is always right' look. 

Mickey with a sigh opens back an order pad in obedience. He so didn't sign up to be Ian's personal bitch. 

"So. As I was saying. Franny, my niece, drew a pair of scissors and I swear it looks like a fucking phallus..." and he's already picking out his phone to show it. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

  
Mickey, after acknowledging that he still has his move to make. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he started building a strategy for taming certain stubborn lemur-faced dumbass. First, he decided to use the opposite of Lip's strategy. Contra strategy so to say. Reverse strategy. If he is avoiding Mickey like Typhoid Mary, Mickey is not interring to make his life any easier. In fact, he is gonna make sure he sees him everywhere, making him paranoidly gaze everywhere even when he wasn't around. Frankly, Mickey enjoyed that more than he should, but fuck it. He was moping over his sorry ass way too often over this year. Anyway, the foundation was laid. 

However, even though Christmas Eve added him a good amount of confidence, he couldn't rid of the fact that he is aiming to the moon. How the fuck is he suppose to lure him into his bed? He can't drug him, right? Right? *awkward laughter* Even in his worst days Mickey never has been that kind of bastard. Back to the problem. He had enough idiocy to ask Svetlana to share her 'skill' or whatever, which looking back was a stupid-stupid-stupid idea. Mickey assumed that if the guy is drooling all over the place, wagging his tail around her, even with the imaginary dick she supposedly keeps in her pants, there is some craft hidden that he can't see with his unfocused gay eyes. She said to suck herder, which Mickey finds offensive because he is a self-proclaimed dick charmer, thank you very much. 

The New Year was one big disaster. Did you know that New Year is a huge fucking deal for Russia and all the former Soviet countries? And when I say a big deal, I mean huge fucking deal. The restaurant wasn't so full since...never. It has never been so full. Lip hired ten suicides from the craigslist, but they still couldn't get shit done. People were partying like its last day of all existing, not of the year. And....you know what that's not the point of the story. The point is Svetlana decided to add a Russian New Year spirit into the atmosphere (like someone asked her) and dress the staff into some weird-ass characters from someone's twisted nightmare. Alex had to present in the hall as Russian Santa before midnight, which looked exactly how you'd imagine Russian Santa to look like. She dressed as Santa's granddaughter or something. And, when he, Mickey, pointed out that they probably should stop examining each other's oral cavity in the costumes of blood relatives, they said it's a tradition....for actors to hook up, not what you think. So apparently, Russian Santa lives in the forest, and, Russian forest for lack of elves exploits animals from the said forest. Anyway, when Svetlana decided that he is going to be a rabbit Mickey laughed because like hell he is going to let this faux fur piece of shit anywhere near his body.

He stormed into Lip's office ten minutes later wearing damned rabbit ears and hell angry. Lip lifts his gaze and lets out a peal of laughter right from the spot. 

"I'm not wearin' it," Mickey grumbles through his greeted teeth crossing his arms on his chest. "There are lines I'm not crossing and this is that exact line. I'm not wearing this fucking bunny shit." 

"I don't know, man. I don't think you allowed to work without them at the Playboy Club." He sniggers, "You look damn cute." 

"Fuck you," he says, halfheartedly, failing to hide the corner of his mouth aiming up. It's been a while since they carelessly fool around."I'm not wearing this shit."

"You know this whole mascarade not exactly my division. It's Svetlana's idea, so it's for her to decide." he smiles almost fondly still eyeing Mickey and his stupid fake ears. 

"I am not wearing these fucking ears nor fucking tail." He says firmly, because no. Mickey Milkovich has a reputation to maintain, he is not some small mammal bitch. 

"Tail?" Lip raises one brow, smirk building its way on his face. 

Fuck. 

Mickey sighs and with demonstratively spread aside hands, slowly turns to him with the puffy pink little tail velcroed to his ass. 

"Yeah, yeah. It comes with a tail." He mutters under his nose and expects another wave of snorts that never comes. He looks over to frozen Lip stares at Mickey's ass without blinking. For a moment Mickey thinks that he spaced out again, but considering by the opened mouth panting he was pretty much present. 

"Like what you see?" He lets himself a smirk. Mickey has never been overly affectionate towards his bottom. Not that kind of gay, alright. But Gallagher has some weird sacral bonding with that part of his body on a spiritual level. Not in an obsessive way, God forbid, but usually, Mickey finds his hand on his ass more than often. 

"Huh," he says not really listening. Mickey's relieved by the fact that he is not the only one who was having a hard time adapting to his new no sex embargo regulation custom. 

"It's round" Mickey provides, suppressing his voice from sounding too obviously alluring. 

"Yeah," Lip agrees. 

"It's soft to the touch," he adds, by the way.

"I know," Lip gulps. 

What a looser. 

"And it's fluffy," 

"And flu...wait what? why?" His head flies up to meet Mickey's face

"Why fluffy? Well, it's synthetic polymeric faux fur motherfucker. Pretty sure, fluffiness is implied on the production level." Mickey savored every emotion Lip so generously provided. 

"Oh, you mean tail," he rubs his forehead, probably to cover the blush reaching his face all the way from his neck. 

"What else would I mean?" he says overdoing the innocence but Lip chooses to ignore it. 

"I...I don't know. So you want to take it off?" He makes an effort to change the topic, while Mickey wonders if he really Lip really doesn't see through his shit. 

"You know what? No. I suddenly felt so attached to this little piece of rag." 

"Are you sure? The minute ago you were so adamant about not wearing it" 

'Yeah, well I'm that fickle" he shrugs, and slowly walks away, and if he swayed his hips just a bit on purpose, no one has to know that. He still felt a bit salty about kicking his ass out of his office the other day, so screw his (Lip's) sexy ass. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

 **Day 2 or attempt not to kill Ian 2**

"For appetizers, we offer: Onion soup, blinchik..." 

"This man was lying these dirty concrete with his insides out..." 

"...squash soup, chicken grilled salad, Pelmeni..."

"...Have never seen so much blood in my fucking life."

The old pervert clears his throat pointedly from the table nearby. 

"Sorry," Ian's quick to apologize. How ironic, Mickey didn't receive his portion for a change. "Where was I?"

Deep in your ass

"The guy, who technically suppose to kick the bucket by the time I reached him, suddenly opens his eyes looking right into mine. He open his mouth to say something and I already zoned in expecting to hear some personal shit I need to say to his family and no fucking way did I expect him to say "Did sox win?"

"Bullshit," mickey says, because what the fuck.

"What was that?" Ian grins.  
  
"I said, borscht. Russian soup. Chicken soup, Oha with fresh mackerel fish, Oha with smoked mackerel fish..."

"Anyways. This fucker survived and when his wife came..." 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

***  
  
Alright, Google, share your *hiccup* wisdom. *How to-* Micke turns head left and right, and although he was alone at home, and it's all his paranoia makes itself felt, but he'd rather eat his pants and his shoes then let anyone witness his humiliation. He uses incognito mode and types into the search box:

* _ **How to seduce a man**_ *

God, it's fucking embarrassing. 

He opens the first article he finds. It's some fancy magazine, that Mickey has seen Mandy used to cling to like if her life purpose was imprinted on the glossy pages, back in the days. Good. They definitely keep experts there. He puts all his willpower to ignore the bright, catchy, either too girlish or too gay, but probably both, web design and clicks on the article. The author, Sarah Oaklyn, a young woman with too smart eyes seemed credible. Why the fuck not? 

_*Admit it. Whether you just met them or you've been together for ages, there's always room to try something new to get you both going.*_

Fuck, yeah, Sarah! 

He almost drops a beer bottle from his hand. He probably needs to slow down with this shit. 

_*Want to try something new? Read on for some of our tried-and-true-secrets, and make sure to tell us yours in the comment section!*_

Sounds promising. 

* _Practice our fail-safe seduction tips to secure his affections in true "name of the magazine" sex kitten-style. First and foremost, think of or even make a list of your best qualities that can attract your partner*._

Two words: Power bottom. Ooh, here's one more. Absence of gag reflex. Huh? 

* _That's your weapon, and yes this is a war_.*   
  
Huh, Mickey likes that. War is Mickey's comfort zone, his natural habitat. He likes Sarah. She gets him.   
  
**_1\. Making eye contact with your target is good, but limit it to a few encouraging glances and a smile._**  
**_2\. Play hard to get. Evoke his inner predator._**  
**_3\. Make him wait for sex._**  
**_4\. Flirt.Flirt. And flirt. Hair, lips, eyes. That's your full arsenal._**  
**_5\. Men love compliments. Remind your man what a great and sexy man he is. Make it dirty if you have to. Fully dive into your instincts..._**

**_6\. .etc. etc. etc_ **

**_......._ **  
**_......._ **  
**_......._ **

Mickey was expecting to practical advice. Svetlana's advice sounds more fucking solid than this shit. What the fuck is that? But again, these people are specialists. He likes Sarah and wants to give her a chance. 

He is eliminating the first advice because it's easier to meet a fucking Yeti than Lip's eyes. And even his drunk mind knows better than playing hard to get since Lip is doing that for two of them. Again, Lip outruns him with this one too. Are they reading the same magazine? 

After skipping the first three, he still has a handful of advice that sound like some middle schoolers bucket list. But whatever. He picks up his phone carelessly and doesn't think to slow down, even when he enters the wrong password like three times, which already suppose to be like a red light. What should he write? Mickey wasn't particularly good at flirting or complementing (which shouldn't surprise anyone who has ever at least once laid an eye on him:P) but he is drunk enough to dismiss that fact. 

Lip is so beautiful. Not it an obvious way, but in a way where the more you look at him, the more you see, and the more you see, the harder it is to tear your eyes from him. Like someone who worth to be monumented for no reason other than being an utter stunner, that will be observed, examined, and admired generations after, like David. Lip does remind him of the sculpture of David, or that how Mickey's perception works now. 

**Mickey** : _You have a good pair of big hands_

He types. 

**Mickey** : _i_ _like it_

The message is seen right away, and there is a moment of pause, replaced by *typing* sign followed by several dots. 

"He is typing" he informs Sarah's picture on the webpage. 

The typing sign appears and stops several times, and a short message that follows doesn't really cover the time that was spent to create it. Meh. Maybe he was checking the grammar. 

**Gallagher** : _Yeah? What else do you like?_

Mr. Gallagher, are we fishing for a compliment here? 

**Mickey** : _Your hair. It has right amount of corvynes_

 **Mickey** : _Corvisity_

 **Mickey** : _Curvation_

**Gallagher** : _By what scale?_

 **Mickey** : _By my scale, bitch! Keep up already._

Lips sends laughing smile, and types something while Mickey changes his name. 

**Fisher Gallagher** : _Knew you like them_

**Fisher Gallagher** : _Mhm, both me and my hair are very flattered_

 **Mickey** : _You know what I else I like?_

 **Fisher Gallagher** : _Can't imagine_

Time for a warning shot. 

**Mickey** : _Your dick. In my mouth. Fucking my brains out and coming deep into my throat_

And not leaving him time to reply. 

**Mickey** : _I'm naked and touching myself thinking about it, right now_

 **Mickey** : _Your move David_

"I think I over just outshouted myself," he says to Sarah. Who would have guessed. He is flirty master. He is freaking Yoda of flirting. Wow. Should he share his wisdom with the crowd? He feels selfish keeping it just to himself. Mickey already sees himself being a speaker on the TedTalk when he hears a ring bell. 

Oooh, pizza. Wait. Did he order a pizza? He hopes he did. He's hungry as fuck. He opens the door without thinking and sees Lip, heavily breathing and looking a bit wrecked. Hair messy, heavy breathing, eyes shooting fires. 

Screw pizza. Mickey can eat that. 

"I thought you are a pizza," he says instead of greeting, but Lips seems doesn't notice or care, and he passes Mickey by and enters to his apartment . 

"You ordered pizza?" He asks by the way. 

"Nope," he shakes his head, but Lip is in his bedroom and fuck. In his text he said that he is naked. He should fix that. Mickey hastily takes off his sweater, trips over and falls pealing off his pants, but successfully rids off all shit except for the briefs. While he is debating take them off now or let Lip do all the dirty job, the mentioned individual comes out of his room, studying his place like he seeing it for the first time. If Mickey wasn't occupied by preparation for possible upcoming coitus he would notice that Lip is acting weird. Like he is looking for something. 

"I'm here," says Mickey leaning against the back of the couch. He misses, like two inches and lands on the ground instead, hurriedly bringing himself to upper positionsittion, before Lip sees his epic fall. The gravity today not on his side. Lip, by the way, doesn't notice shit. 

"Are you waiting for somebody?" He says in a serious tone poorly covered with a casual one. 

"No?" Is he? 

"What about David?" Who? Is it a role-play? 

Mickey leans forward and whispers bashfully. 

"I am not very good at role-plays." He admits. Lip's face twists in confusion and then eyes go wide. 

"Are you drunk?" 

"Is it an interrogation?" he starts to heat up

"Where is David?" Lip is also losing his patience. 

"Who the fuck is David?" 

"The dude who you wanted to text to but texted me instead because you are a drunk pig." He shoves his phone to Mickey's face and Mickey sees the messages he sent and in the last one, he called Lip David.

"It's you!" Mickey whines, "David is you!" 

Lip gives him a 'do I look like an idiot' look.

"David statue, of Mikolengelo. Curly hair, pretty face. No?" Lip's eyebrows shoot up almost comically, "It's better than some second-handed pet name, but I suppose it's not gonna stick" 

Lip sighs with relief and Mickey only now sees how tensed he actually was. 

"So there is no David." 

"There are some Davids, somewhere." He says, feeling cold standing in the middle of his living room barely covered. Lip notices that too. His body goes back to stifling and heavy breathing but now for totally another reason. 

"So...?" Mickey stretches, swaying on his feet back and forth coyly. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere somewhere 

The weather is awful - 4/10. Sarah is exhausted and it's only Monday goddamn morning. She still needs to finish the article for 'top 10 sex toys'. The winner is a rotating rabbit flicker from ADAM AND EVE: handy loop handle for easy non-hand-cramping holding is waterproof, rechargeable, and has eight different settings - 9.5/10. She'd give 10/10 but decided to give it a room to grow. 

She needed some coffee. No, she needed more than some coffee. She needed all amount of coffee in the world to wash off the feeling of misery she felt every Monday morning. When she was a fresh top graduate from Berkeley, she was over the moon for being hired to the magazine with an international name. She was naive enough to think that it will take two years at the top before she takes another big step in her career. Five years. She works in the same place for five years. Yeah, she has her own column, but she had to go through the cutthroat competition to get this column she didn't even want in the first place. Dating advices, romantic movie nights, the best recipe for a perfect date- is that what she wanted to write about? Fuck no! She wanted to write about something significant, something big, something real. And, not that right color of lipstick on the first date is not important. It's just not relevant. She is a journalist in the third generation. Her both parents are journalists, and you can imagine how fun are family gatherings. 

"What did you write about this week, honey?"

"Oh, I wrote tips for an hour-long orgasm, mom. Thank you for asking." 

No need to say that she is an honor of the family. Her parents don't really shame her if to be honest. Her father says she and her generation is lazy and doesn't have any patience to finish a task if their life depended on it, and that Sarah needs to stick to her job and grow there before going further. Okay, boomer. 

So, Sarah reached her office, running in her head the opening for the article about the top ten romantic movies for the date. Road to Wonderland- undeserved 4/10, just because hot leading actor assisted in testing rotating rabbit flicker from ADAM AND EVE.  
When she reaches the table she sees a big basket in the wrapping paper on her table, which never happened before. She doesn't have a boyfriend. For a long time. Very long time. The last time she was with a man when she was testing a dating app. The app was good - 7.8/10, the gut was not- 2/10. How ironic that the person who gives thousands of people dating advice hasn't been on sine since the birth of the earth. 

The basket looks amazing - solid 9/10, and she thinks that probably someone temporarily put it here to pick it up late on their way back, but the card on the side flashes her name. 

*Hey, Sarah. *

*I'm Mickey or whatever. Used your tips and got laid. Thanks, bitch. I owe you one. You are a fucking badass writer. *

Sarah wrinkled her nose for a language, but couldn't help but smile. She opened the plastic wrap and what she expected to be fruits turned out to be little bottles of beer. Sarah shrugged and opened one of the bottles and sits on her chair, fully leaning back. Samantha, or just Sam, approaches her desk with her eyes narrowed in contrast to the smile on her face. 

"I can't believe my eyes. Sarah Oakley is cooly sipping a beer on Monday morning" 

Sarah grins back, handing her newly opened beer bottle and clicks against her own. 

"Well that's because I'm a fucking badass writer," she says, laughing. Sam joins not really getting the humor. 

Years later when she will receive Pulitzer Prize in international reporting she will remember this day and how it changed her life, which is totally different story. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

**Day 3 or attempt not to kill Ian 3**

"For entrees we have kulyebyaka, chicken wings, pancakes with meat.."

"I think the that one of my patient is hitting on me..." 

"...and our chef's special filet grilled filet topped with seared foie gras,...."

"...she keeps patting my bum every time I see her, and wants to kiss me in the lips as a greeting...."

"...potatoes au gratin, sautéed asparagus, and sauce au poivre...."

"...and not that I'm not flattered, but she is older than my grandmother-" 

"Age is just a number!" Old grabby pervert inclines.

"Oh, believe me. It's barely a problem for this cumdumpster." He mumbles but by the perplexed stares he resides he was heard loud and clear

"I need to go to other tables. Call me when you are ready to order." He leaves quickly before he says something more. 

_______________________________________________________________

  
**Day 4 or attempt not to kill Ian 4**

"For the main course, we have cabbage rolls: minced meat and riced wrapped in..."

"...And then he died. Did you know that human's body realizes all the shit when it bites the dust?" Ian looks into space, seemingly, living up the moment again. 

"Why do you always have to bring your disgusting story to my brunch time ?" Old perv squeals sonorously. 

Finally. 

"Oh, sorry sir. I..."

"Are you a bandit?" 

"No. NO! I am an EMT. I ... these are things from my job." 

"Well you have to stop or I'll write a complaint on you wherever you're EMTing" 

"Yeah, you'll need more than that to get rid of him," Mickey mutters. 

"Yeah," old perv purrs with a mischievous spark in his eyes, "What do I do then?" Mickey knows that the old queen just smelled a drama on someone else's dime but he still can't help it when he let himself into. 

"Try bang him..."

"I like that" old perv add his two cents. 

"Let him kick you out of the closet right into arms of your homophobic father. Try to look for his ass around the city, in every corner, hoping he didn't get shanked, ravished, or overdosed. Try to date him and believe that you are finally living your life while, surprise-surprise, no. He will see other men, by the way, but, it's not cheating, God forbid. Care about him. Deeply care about him" Mickey with delay realizes that he has tears in his eyes,"Tell him you love him, even though you've never told that shit to anyone, ever in your fucking life. Even to your mother. That should be enough, but just in case I would get your ass thrown into the prison for the sake of his stupid ass. That should make a trick."

"Oh, dear," Perv says with so much lusciously sweet sympathy in his voice, it makes him sick. Great. Old perv pities him now. He poorly excuses himself before he tells about his menstrual cramps, fucking pussy.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Dr. Weber warned him that this may happen. 'Suppressing emotions for so long will bring to inevitable outburst' she said. That's exactly what was happening. Every time he lets his guard slightly down, all the bitterness and rage get out of leash. Mickey feels like an asshole after, seeing Ian's puppy fucking face. He wants to leave past in the past, but Ian gives a flying fuck about any of his wants. How some things don't change at all. He gets himself in some twisted emotional rollercoaster spiraling from suppressed anger towards Ian, to guilt for the outburst, and anger again because Ian keeps coming back for more. What an emotional masochist he became over these years. 

"Mick!" Ian reaches him in the corridor, in front of the staff room, where Mickey was planning to hide like a coward. "Mick, wait!" 

He, frivolously in Mickey's opinion, turns him around by the shoulder. He shakes off his hand and Ian raises both palms in submission. 

"We need to talk." He starts and Mickey wants to scoff and say something aggressively offensive to wash off this unshakable optimism from his face. Not all problems can be fixed with a talk! "Should have talked a long ago." He pauses trying to find the right words, "I don't want us to be at each other's throats for the rest of our lives. And I fucking get how selfish it is of me to want to leave the past in the past and move on, but I..." He gasps exasperatedly, running his hand through hair and looks away.

"Yeah. I get it."Mickey speaks, making Ian look back at him, "I want to move on too. But I want to move on my own. Without you. In my life." 

Ian frowns and polished to perfection hurt expression finds the place on his face when he shakes his head stepping back turning away again, but not really going anywhere.

"What do you want me to do?!" Mickey enjoys his final outburst."What the fuck you want me to do? I can't go back, even if I wanted to" 

"What do I-?" He repeats, "Stick your goddamn head out of your ass, for fuck's sake, and hear me when I say to leave me alone!" He yells back. 

"I can't! I fucking can't! If I could I would do that by now!" 

"Really? Cause the last time I remember Svetlana had to pay you to bring your ass to talk to me" 

"You're never gonna let it go, aren't ya?" Ian smiles bitterly"How about the years when before that. All the shit you gave me, huh?" He moves closer with a challenge as if trying to crowd Mickey, and Mickey's first reaction is to do the same. Wasn't born the son of a bitch, that can make him step back. 

"Right. I got it. I was a shit of a boyfriend. I wasn't much of a talker, and my idea of conversation was to insult you a bunch and punch you right before we bang. I didn't take you out on dates, and generally was just a South Side piece of trash. Can't imagine a nightmare you had to live through." He says stressing every word, and watching Ian's eyes narrowing in a mild recognition. Mickey knows those words by heart because he runs them in his head what must be like million times wondering if that's all he ever been for Ian, if that what he always thought of him, how he is remembered. "Yeah. Caleb said Hi." 

And, Mickey is exhausted by this conversation. He wants to run off. Escape. Disappear. Ready to be anywhere but here. Meanwhile, Ian put a grip on himself and found a way to speak. 

"How-?"

"Met once. You'd be surprised how tight the artistic community in Chicago," 

"Whatever he said, don't believe him. He is...he is an asshole. An-, an- and liar... and cheater..." 

"Well that makes two of you, doesn't it?" he says, quietly, unlike the effect, it makes on Ian, and Mickey doesn't want to feel the satisfaction it brings. 

"You are not serious...Mickey, I was maniac. I had an episode. I-I-I was out of my mind. You can't throw that at my face." 

"I don't blame you for the shit...not entirely. But fucking admit that you cheated. Apologize or fucking acknowledge it." 

"Misha" Alex's massive statue appears taking a place right next to Mickey.

"Lyosha," Mickey greets him back no tearing his eyes from Ian. 

"Gentleman has a problem?" He crosses his hands, making himself look even bigger and glares at Ian with a warning.

"No. Ian is leaving," Mickey says, crossing his hands, imitating the position of the Russian next to him. 

Ian tears his eyes form Mickey to eye a newcomer. He let his eyes run across Alex's dangerous features. 

"Oh, I see. Your boyfriend? You like them fat now?" 

Mickey knows that he doesn't mean it. Bitterness never was his strongest suit, unlike for Mickey.

"Hey, he is not fat. He is brawny." 

He slaps Alex on the bicep twice. Alex demonstratively does the same but on the chest. He is very sensitive about his body. 

"Leave, before you feel on your ass how much of it are muscles and how much is fat." He warns.

Ian throws the last annoyed glance at Alex before turning around and vigorously walking away. 

"You okay, man?" He hears Alex asking.

"Yeah. I'm fine," he says, weakly. And gives him a nod internationally known as 'Thanks, man. I owe you one.'. Alex nods back. 

He is not fine. He feels sick and dirty. The rage covers his common sense with a veil, and he doesn't feel like his hands are about to stop shaking any time soon. Focusing on his breath doesn't' do the trick, mostly because the words Ian said were running in his head on repeat, adding fuel to his fury.   
  
Mickey splashes his face once, twice, ten times, in an attempt to wash off all the dirt Ian has spit on him, and with a delay realize that he is not alone in the bathroom. 

"Ian left?" Lip asks, very cooly, very distantly.

"You heard." Mickey states. Li nods and turns his head to the window, leaving Mickey to wonder if he is angry at Mickey for kicking out his brother.

"You think it was wise?" He finally says, and Mickey gulps. 

"What wise?" 

Gallagher sigh, tiredly. He looks exhausted overall, just like months ago when they've met first time after years in his office, where Mickey came to have an interview. 

"I won't blame you," He says, looking down at the tip of his shoes."Or give a shit." 

With a snail pace, Mickey distinguishes the glimpse of the point he is trying to deliver, fuck if it's helping to cool his rage. 

"If I do what?" he is so obviously on the edge. 

"Mickey-"

"You won't blame me if I do what?" He repeats louder. 

Lip doesn't respond, just peers at him with those stupidly blue eyes of his, which follow Mickey to his dreams, but now felt like a personal offense. 

"If I will get back with him? Is that what you trynna push here?" No reaction,"Fuck you, Lip!" 

How can he fucking do this to him? One thing is to reject Mickey, and totally another is to push him into Ian's bed. It's so fucked up, it's a new Everest level of fucked up even by their standards. Looking at him is painful, so he turns away rubbing of the water droplets off his face. 

"I'm not saying that I want that," Mickey hates how calm he sounds when he is a second away from mental explosion. 

"Then what are you saying?" 

Another sigh. "I want you to be happy. And if ever happen to be standing on your way...don't hesitate to push me away." Mickey looks back at him, not sure if he means what he says. 

Defeat and resignation are what his body language and appearance overall say, which makes Mickey wants to scream 'what the fuck is going on in your dumb head?'. He delivers it al like he, Mickey, is in a position to decide, when in fact they don't leave him horseshit of a choice. He never wanted to meet with Ian on the first place, he didn't ask for that stupid orphan Annie to sway around this hellhole like he has no place to live, didn't want to serve his freckled ass every day, and yet Lip has nerves to put it that way, to come up with some twisted version of 'I don't deserve you'. He'd rather work with classical 'it's not you, it's me' kinda shitshow. 

"I see." He clears his throat and in spite of that it comes out shaky, "What about us?"

There is a pause where Mickey's heartbeat speeds up, resonating loudly in his head while he waits for Lip's response. 

"Will be no us"

And words were said and came out painfully easily. Lip confirmed his months-long fears in two tickle like he is not getting Mickey down like he is not breaking his heart. 

"It had to end eventually. Probably better end it now, before someone..." 'Gets hurt' doesn't need to be said. He is getting dumbed in the worst way possible, and he can't even call it a breakup, because unlike the last his last relationships he didn't even get to get a boyfriend title. 

Mickey does what he does the best. Runs. Storms off because it's all getting too much, making him fall to pieces. Too much of everything for one day, for one year. That's not what he expected when he first came to this place seeking a job. It was supposed to be easy cash not an overturning his life upside down. Fucking Gallaghers. Be damned the day he walks through this fucking doors. Be damned the day he walks through Kash an'Grab and snatched that stupid gun.

"Misha' 

Is anyone gonna give me a fucking break today? Alex sees Mickey's expression and swallows whatever he was about to when the latter turns to him. 

"He told you" Alex he says instead. 

"Who tole me what?" Mickey frowns. There is no way Alex knows what's going on between him and Lip. 

"Sheff. About another one? He was seeing" 

Blood rushes off from Mickey's face, making him paler. 

"What?" 

Alex understands his mistake right away. 

"That bastard. Not real man. Listen, Misha, don't be upset-"

"Another one?" He interrupts him.

Alex hesitates for a beat, but says eventually,"The day I got drunk, before the ginger boy came, he said that he met someone." 

"Did...did he say who it was?" 

"No, but, Misha, I think it's serious. I was drunk, and don't remember many things, but he...he said something about falling in love" 

Mickey's heart sinks down, but he finds enough streght to nod and looks away because pity written on his face is almost unbearable. 

"I need to leave. Feel sick. Tell Svetlana...?"

"Leave that on me, yes" 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting in the dullness of his apartment, Mickey tried to read through the dullness of his mind. Is it a shock? Is it a slowdown? Is his mind still processing or is it a surrender? Total capitulation? He doesn't know. He is exhausted, that's all he distinguishes. The months of self-digging, overthinking, inner anxiety ate him out completely. Mickey doesn't give a fuck anymore. He is empty, nothing left. 

He doesn't want to believe that it's over, because it's impossible to wrap his head around it. Does he have to leave now? 

'He didn't say that he doesn't want Mickey in his life' he thinks, but the salty party of him says, 

'no, he just offered to go fuck Ian' 

'He's never been an option. He didn't make any promises' his mind reminds again because hate doesn't fit in right in his system. 

It was hard to believe that Lip was seeing someone on the side. He was with him all the time, he would have seen, would have felt. But again would he? Lip is his own person. Mickey wants to crush his beautiful skull. No, he wants to want to crush his beautiful skull. That's so fucked up right there. 

A ring bell interrupts his rising inner rant. The first humiliating thought is that its Lip, maybe changed his mind, but he drops that thought not wanting to make his expectations too high. He is already walking on the edge, and one more fall can't destroy him completely. 

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" He moans internally seeing a mop of red hair in the peephole, and decides, screw him. He can't take another round. He will kill his sorry ass in a blink of an eye to stop his own suffering. 

Loud bangs against the door accompanied by "Open the door! I know you are in!" Don't leave him much of a choice. 

"What!?" He says, opening the door swiftly. 

"We need to talk" he invites himself into the Mickey's place

"Come fucking in, make yourself at home." he follows him to the living room,"How the fuck did you even find this place?" 

"Yev" well, at least he has enough conscience to look guilty.

"Great. Drag my son into this." He mutters 

"We need to talk" he repeats with more emphasis as if Mickey missed that the first time.

"We tried that. Didn't work out." 

"We weren't listing each other" Ian says because he can't help being a walking encyclopedia of cliche phrases to save his life. 

"Oh. How I didn't think about that. Do you have a team-building game for that, Captain Obvious?" 

"Mickey-"

"No, Mickey! Mickey is tired. Mickey is empty. Mickey is on the edge and if one tampon top don't stop pushing, Mickey is going to punch him on the nuts"

"Mickey- Wait, did you just call me tampon top?" 

"Get out!" 

"I won't leave until we sit and talk like adults that we suppose to be." 

"Listen, Ian. I don't want to deal with your shit anymore. It's really not a good time." 

"Then you have one more reason on the top of others to start talking to me" 

"Ah, I see. Nice to know that some stuff doesn't change at all." He mumbles. He desperately needs to smoke, like right now. Lighter is in the bedroom table. 

"What does that suppose to mean?" Ian follows him into the bedroom.

"Like you don't know" he lets out a dry laugh, "Everything has to happen as Ian wants. Mickey doesn't want to deal with his feelings, Ian enlists to the army. Ian wants to work in the strip club and dance for a bunch of vigroids, he does it. Ian wants Mickey to come out, Mickey comes out. Ian doesn't want to take meds, he is a big boy and can decide. Ian wants to break up, well Mickey has to deal with it." in the heat he throws an unlit cigarette to the ground and steps on it.

"So it is about the breakup?" Mickey can see convolutions of the brain straining trying to work it out. 

"YES! It is about the breakup, it is about moving on, it is about abandoning me, leaving me behind when I needed you because I was there when you needed me." 

Here, he finally said it. Ian finally made him say it. 

"It was hard to see you there. Behind the glasses." Ian says, voice restrained, eyes avoiding Mickey's, running everywhere and nowhere in particular. 

"I'm sure it was. Being there wasn't exactly a cruise trip. I needed you. Not boyfriend Ian, the friend Ian. Bipolar or not. I needed you. If you didn't know, prison is not juvie. Is so far from juvie." Mickey turns away, it is the first time he voices what he had to live through. Then next he says with a lot more heat "And then you waltz into my life, without asking me, again! and try to tell me what to fucking feel. You know what Ian. Fuck you! You don't get to tell me a fucking horseshit. You lost that privilege on that damn porch."

Ian has enough brain cells not to interrupt, apart from moments of gasps and sharp inhales he was making. That's why it's easy to continue his confession. 

"I thought we were destined or whatever cheap-ass romantic bullshit the looser like me can get. Even lightning hits the same place twice, ya know?"

"You're not a loser" he hears Ian breathing out, and turns back to look over his face. Eyes shiny with tears, he looks at him looking confused like he can't believe Mickey could say that. 

"Yeah? Well, maybe you will stop treating me like one? Huh."

He takes a deep breath in, but and it helps to rein in a sob that strives to find a way out, but he obstinately continues. 

"I really would have moved on, and — I don't know — would get a dog and call it by your name when I am old and ugly — maybe！— who knows. If you just fucking apologized like an 'adult you suppose to be'" he mimics his vice in a mocking manner, "Two words and I would die in fucking peace. What am I supposed to think if even the man I loved more than this fucking life itself wipe his feet against me and swings back as nothing happened." 

"No" he shakes his head stubbornly, voice is shaky, eyes on the floor, "that's not how it is. I had to do it. If I didn't both of us would go down." 

"Oh, really? Is that what helps you to sleep at night?" 

"What do you want me to say?" he looks up, ignoring the wide streams of tears streaming down his face. 

"You know what, Ian. Acknowledge that you fucked up and apologize." 

"I can't," he shakes his head, rubbing his face. 

"Fuck you!" 

"I can't!" His voice breaks and he gives up on wiping salty tears off his face with shaky hands. 

"Why?" Mickey wants to get it. 

And he sees it. He can't say what exactly changes but he sees it when it happens. When Ian's emotional trajectory changes from tensed denial to the outburst on the edge of hysteria. 

"How fucking can I?! How fucking can I admit that we are not together because of me?!" He says through sobs,"We were supposed to be together for the rest of our lives and die the same day and fuck, and now it's ruined and, and you hate me. You fucking hate me." he exclaims hurtfully,"If I admit it means that everything is over. That we are over. Means everything went through was for nothing. And I am the one who did it. Not my disorder. Not your father. Me. With my own hands. How I can fucking admit such a terrible thing." 

There is a pause that he uses to take a deep breath in and out, and it helps him a bit to get a grip on himself, and the next he says more under his breath, sounding more or less like himself "Rather die. Rather be depressed for the rest of my life than admit that." 

Fuck, Mickey lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. That's not what he expected to hear. That's not what Ian suppose to say. But how would he know? He didn't give him a chance to speak.

If mickey had thought he felt awful before, right now hit the lowest bottom of the emotional scale. And it hit him, and it hit him brutally hard. What was he thinking? He was a happy person. Not at this precise moment, but generally happy person. He wasn't a scared piece of south side trash anymore. He had his life together, he had his family and he had a future, unbelievable thing for his old standards. He was in love, what he thought would never happen again. And yet he let himself dig into his pain and self-pity and victimization that forgot that he might not be the only one who's hurt.

It wasn't about Mickey. It was never about Mickey. It was about fear Ian had to coexist with, and Mickey just let his insecurities cover his eyes with vail and overlook that he is not the broken one. Ian is. Vigorously villainizing Ian, he didn't even think about trying to understand why he did what he did. Because it was easier to hate than to forgive. It was easier to forget than to understand. Now, who is in denial? He looked at his wet from the tears face, and what he saw broke his heart. It was young Ian, when he was 15, panting helplessly on his porch, looking at him with those lost puppy eyes.

'I don't know where else to go' he said that time.

But this form of Ian was saying 'I don't know what to do. I don't want to feel the pain. I can't take any more pain.' 

Mickey is not the broken one. Ian is. 

The stretched pause is hanging between them, but the tension is gone, just like the heat. It's enough for Ian to put himself together after his agonized speech, and stop the tears. Mickey clears his throat but the sour lump doesn't disappear, and it came raspy when he says. 

"I-" he stretches it and he is not sure what he is going to say, but he means it when it comes out as "...forgive you." 

There is silence when Ian's eyes get wider in shock and disbelieve. Then he furrows deeply as if trying to figure out what game Mickey was playing. Not finding a suspicious shadow he slowly turns his head left and right slowly. 

"No," he says, firmly.

"I forgive you"

"No, shut up" he shakes his head more roughly and the voice gets more rigid, more adamant. 

"You did what you had to do," Mickey says softly. 

"No, please, no. Stop. No" Ian's voice breaks again, and he is back to tears and sobs, hitting a new level of hysteria. 

Mickey slowly approaches him, not sure if the guy won't punch him in high gear. He puts his hand on his shoulder and gasps in surprise when Ian pulls him into the tightest embrace possible. He hesitantly wraps his hand around his torso, holding a shaking body, while Ian cries on his shoulder full gear. 

"I forgive you." He whispers because he does. He really does. 

The last thing he expects to hear is 

"I'm sorry."

And another 

" ..I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry"

  
"Shh. You did good. You did right." He taps his back, soothingly. 

"I'm so fucking sorry,"

He loses the count of time. But by the stiff arms and deep darkness of the room, he can guess that they are standing they for quite a while, filling the room with 'I'm so sorry' and 'I forgive you'. Ian stops shaking at some point, and his whimpers get from short to none when Mickey feels that lips on his neck are weakly striating sucking into his skin.

"What-?" He turns head to look over at Ian's face and sees his face too close to his own, his lips on his own. The perplexity and shock doesn't let him react quickly, but he pulls eventually, insistently pushing him away," Ian, no" 

Ian's face takes an expression of childish indignation. 

"But you said-" 

Mickey doesn't get to hear what he 'said', distracted by the loud slamming of the door. 

What the...

A black-hearted fore-feeling tightens in his chest. Only Lip has keys. Lip?   
  
"Stay here. Come out when I call you"   
  
He says going out.  
  
"What is there?" Mickey feels his confusion.   
  
"Stay there! Don't come out." He repeats.   
  
The hallway is empty. Weird, he thinks, but then his eyes fall on a box on the ground. His heartbeat raises, with each step he makes. Two steps away from the box he recognizes the logo of the bakery down the street, that Lip buys him pastry from.   
  
Lip was here?   
  
What he...?

He saw the kiss...

Oh, no....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some behind the scene information
> 
> 1) I mentioned before how I hated the way Ian talked about Mickey with Caleb, so yeah. Caleb and Mickey have met. Marcus will introduce them to each other on one of his parties that he will talk Mickey into staying. Mickey will say he is from South Side, Caleb will say he had a boyfriend from SS. You go the point. Caleb won't realize that they dated the same guy, though. Theoretically, Mickey wasn't supposed to quote Ian word by word, since it has been years and no one canceled the 'broken phone' effect, but I am writing this story, so we have what we have.
> 
> 2)After Mickey leaves, Lip is approached by Alex who gets into a monologue about how he, Alex, needs to fight no matter what (for Svetlana), and that love is not given to everyone, blah, blah, blah. It resonates with LIp, and it inspires him to step over his fear of getting hurt. Well, you know the rest. 
> 
> 3) Alex doesn't like Ian because he thinks Ian is hitting on Svetlana. Even though he is gay and love men, and Svetlana, in his head, was born as one. 
> 
> There are shit-tons of mistakes that I fully take credit for, but I still hope it won't ruin the whole impression too much. Thanks again for reading.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I was writing it in a real rush, so there are fucktons of mistakes. Read it on your own risk. I will or will not edit it in the future, since I am very tight on time lately.

Mickey sprint out of the home through the lobby, out of the building, vigorously looking left and right, but no sign of mop of blonde curls was seen. 

No, no, no. 

He fishes out his phone from the pocket and calls him.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick the fucking phone up." He mutters under his breath with a stream coming out of his mouth in the winter cold.

His first call is declined and on the second Lip turns off his phone completely. 

Mickey goes back home, not sure what to do. It's all getting too much for one day. Lip was here and....and what? Saw them kissing. He saw them kissing...and then what? What does he think now? Was it too fucked up for him? Didn't he push Mickey towards Ian? 

His brain was overexploited today and now is depreciating with geometrical progression. He sits down on the floor next to the abandoned cake box and opens the carton cover. One cake plus one compliment: that's the business. The cake is smashed a bit since it was obviously dropped, and Mickey has to sink his hand into the creamy sides to grope the card covered with icing. He wipes the cream and involuntarily holds his breath when he reads it. 

_**"I don't deserve you"** _

He breathes in so fast, the sharp air scratches his lungs painfully. Tears blurry his view, and his chest tightens up painfully into the stiffest clench, pulsing loudly and shortening his every breath rapidly. Mickey knows this feeling. He felt it before once and hoped never to feel again. That what heart-break feels like. 

"Is that a honey cake?" Asks Ian worriedly coming from Mickey's bedroom, looking at Mickey who is sitting on the floor over the cake with a tenderness of a mother over her child. Mickey forgot that he still was there and couldn't really make himself care. Not now. Any other time but now. 

"Apology cake," he whispers, shutting his eyes so hard it hurts, forcing his tears out. He came to apologize. What for? For not being able to be with him? For capable of returning his feelings? Is that what it's all about? Because that's what it feels like. 

There is a long pause during which, apparently, Ian tries to read through the scene in front of him. 

"Who left it? Russian guy from the restaurant?" he asks, as the picture starts to emerge for him and he interprets it in his own way. His boyfriend came and saw them kissing. At least, that how far Ian could figure out. 

Mickey doesn't respond. Just fidgets, swaying back and forth with a sticky piece of paper pressed tightly to his chest. 

  
"You gotta leave" He whispers, after a while, opening his eyes but avoiding landing them anywhere to Ian's direction. 

"I..." And he doesn't finish it but asks instead, "Do you love him?" not sure if he wants to hear the answer. 

"Good-bye, Ian" his whisper sounds like thunder in the silence of the living room. 

Mickey feels Ian's squint on him for a while, before he hears the screech of the front door and the shut.

If he knew how this day will end, he'd never take a step out of his bed.

But Lip...

Where is he? Does he hate him now? Did Mickey reach the limit of his patience? Questions. Questions. Questions. When it comes to Lip there are all just questions. He needs to find him. Hate him or not, Mickey needs to make sure that he is alright. 

Chaotically he rushed to the restaurant, calling Carl on his way. Carl says he is at his girlfriend's place and doesn't know where Lip is. He calls Liam, saying that he urgently needs Lip. The boy is at home, Lip is not. At the restaurant, Svetlana and she didn't see Lip after he left. When he out of options, a wave of panic crashes at him with slashing force. Where is he? What if something happened to him? Where could he possibly go? What if he gets himself into the fight again? What if he somewhere there in the cold alley, lying stubbed and bleeding out. 

He runs through all the pubs and every place nearby, that is running at this time if the night and keeps calling him non-stop. Two hours later he is exhausted, more anxious, and still has no clue where to look for his ass, while his phone is completely dead. Lost and frustrated he goes back home, not knowing what to do, and what he doesn't expect to see is a fucking Dora the explorer wannabe son of a bitch sitting on the ground leaning against his door like some lost puppy. The first reaction is to crush his skull and bust his ball to teach him a lesson, but then he remembers that are not on the same ground they used to be. Has he even right to be worried about him now? 

He silently sits next to him. Lip lifts his gaze to Mickey's side but eyes never touch Mickey's profile. He feels the strong scent of alcohol, his skin is flushed and heated, eyes are more defocused than usually. 

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Mickey wants to take him by the collar and shake all the crap out of his head. How could he? The years of sobriety down to the drain, for what? 

Mickey is not an idiot. 

_I don't mind you dating Ian. I don't deserve you. Before someone gets hurt._

He knows where is it coming from and drinking his ass off is not doesn't worth it at any rate. Was it so unbearable to be with him? Mickey knows Lip, and no matter how hard he denies it his night in a shiny armor syndrome hasn't gone anywhere if not intensified. Mickey feels as if it's his fault. He should have been more attentive, more concerned about what's going on in his head. Should have been less selfish. Should have let him go before. The long before. 

"You have keys what are you doing out here?" Mickey breaks the silence they kept for a while, each thinking about their own shit. 

"Wasn't sure I want to know what's inside" and Mickey is not sure what he means. Partly because his brain stopped functioning five hours ago, and partly because he Lip stopped making any sense. 

"How did we end up here?" Lip asks, which probably rhetorically. 

"I always blame my dad." 

Lip crackles up 

"Yeah, glad you can find anything they can be good for.", another silence hangs in the air before Lip says "I better go" 

He lifts himself up and Mickey as if pulled by invisible force does the same. Mickey wants to ask why he had come, wants to demand to explain himself, wants to rail him up for drinking, but remains silent. Instincts didn't serve him right today. Doesn't worth any risk-ting. 

There is a moment when Lip lifts his eyes for the first time meeting Mickey's, and looks right into them, like he did in the dark alley, right after nearly killed those fuckers. Looking deep into him, as if trying to figure something out. What are you looking for - Mickey wants to ask. Cure of cancer, a solution to poverty, an alternative source of energy? What? It makes no sense because here he is, Mickey, standing boringly simple and plain. No mystery, no secret, and no enigma whatsoever. But yet Lip is looking at him like he is some fucking human Bermudian triangle or some shit. 

Lip bites his lips making Mickey shift his stare at them hypnotized. For a spare moment, he is confident that he will at least get - what could possibly be their last - kiss. Doesn't he deserve that much? But Lip clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing his neck averting his gaze away, towards the direction of his retreat. And perhaps that's for the better. It would bring more pain and Mickey can't guarantee that he won't break into sobs like some pussy-ass weeper. 

"Yeah," breathes out, permitting him to leave. 

And he does. Moves away. Heavily displacing his feet, his head tilted low down, shoulder rolled as if he is carrying the whole burden of this world on his back. 

There is a big part of Mickey, that strives to take control over, wants to call him back, tell him to stays, ask him not to give up so easily. But then his memory generously throws the pictures from the past when he tried to make an effort...

_*Don't*_

_*I am worried about you*_

_*This is you breaking up with me*_

_*I love you*_

_*Been thinking about you. You ever think of me?*_

_*Gonna wait for me?*_

_*Will you?*_

_*Wait?*_

_*Fucking lie if you have to. Eight years is a long time*_

...and failed.   


He holds his breath when Lip stops, and just stands there, practically not doing anything. His back is tensed and he is heavily breathing, judging by how his shoulders visibly go up and down. The stay there, Lip with his back to Mickey, and Mickey gawping at him, for what seems like ages, as if someone put them on a pause. 

With a squeak of his shoe Lip spins around, and without skipping a beat, in three large steps reaches Mickey pulling him by the neck into the kiss and, fucking, yes. That's exactly what Mickey was drying for. That's exactly what made him feel alive again. For the spare seconds the kiss last he felt like he was living. Driven he tries to capture his lower lip with his, when Lip pulls back, to extend the kiss, but Lip doesn't let. Instead, he pulls his head further back, peeking into Mickey's dizzy eyes as if trying to find a common sense. Too late, he lost his sanity long ago. He holds Mickey's face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks. 

" _ **Pick me**_ ," he says, firmly. Mickey reluctantly tears his eyes from his lips and has to run what he just said in his head more than once to process the meaning behind.

"What?" 

"Pick me," he repeats. 

And just oh...

"What..." The words in his head refuse to stay in line, that how smashed he feels. 

"I want you to choose me. I don't care if you and Ian being together is written in the goddamn stars. I don't care that if one day you decide to chase his ass or-...or...you have a past of fucking ghetto Romeo and Juliet. I don't fucking care. You two can't have what we have. You and I. I want you to be with me. Want you to choose me." he says with so much heat, his face is flushed and he has to catch his breath at the end. 

And, oh...

Mickey thought that the cake lying on the ground was heartbreaking. Little did he know. _This._ This is the most heartbreaking thing he has ever seen. How in the fucking world he could think that he might possibly not be wanted. How can they be so fucked up? He wants to say so many things. He wants to say that there is nothing to choose, that the choice has been made for him, but all he can say is:

"Okay," he says like a fucking moron, because it was a long day, and he thinks he is about to explode. 

"Wha-. No, you don't get. I want you to be with me. It means no Ian. No Marcus. No other man around you. Just _me._ _You_ and _me._ " Lip drills his eyes deep into Mickey's, not to miss a flash of awareness. 

"Yeah. Okay. Yeah" he nods, trying to sound sane, and adds "I want that too" and Mickey's voice comes out shaky because it was a long day, and he wants to cry because the man he loves may love him back. 

Lip, on the opposite, furrows his eyebrows. 

"But Ian and you-"

"There is no Ian and me! I..." What can he say? I lost my keys inside your brother's mouth? "Me and him can't have what _we_ have. _You and I_ " he says instead, bringing their foreheads together and letting tears he was holding out. 

Lip stares at him dumbfounded. His eye starts to widen up with the enlightenment he experiences. 

"I... I am an idiot," he makes a breakthrough. He blinks a couple of times and then lets out a couple of bitter, dry laughs, shock never leaving his eyes, "Genius my ass. I am dumbest fucking person in..." 

His speech is snatchy, movements are jerky, eyes edgy. He lifts his gaze at Mickey, "God I am so..I could just..." His eyes fall on Mickey's lips. And, offhandedly, without a wronging, he attacks his lips for the second time this night. His lips forcefully suck him in, tongue invading into Mickey's mouth unceremoniously. The force by which he comes at him, makes Mickey take two steps back until his back slams against the door. 

"I could have this..." He says, between short pauses, "Could have you...All this time" 

And he pulls back again, Mickey is ready to crush their lips again, but it never happens. He just stares at him, eyes hyper-focused, and his mouth is opened, prepared to say something. Something important. 

Mickey's eyes go wide. Is this it? Is he going to say it? Those three words Mickey never hoped to hear. Declaration of love or something from the same shitpool. 

"I..." 

_Here it goes..._

"I..." 

And pushing himself away from Mickey, he bends down, convulsively releasing whatever chemical plant he poured into himself. The smell is disgusting, and Mickey has to hold himself from not looking down. He hesitantly claps his back.

"There you go" he mutters."Good job, tough guy" 

That's nasty. But what did you expect? That's the closest Mickey can get to a rom-com, and he is taking it all. Besides, he just, on his own free will, signed up for his stupid ass. He has his share of commitment to make. 

Mrs. Perry opens her door out of curiosity, and because her peep hole doesn't reach the right trajectory to effectively spy. What she finds makes each hair on her body to stick up. 

There is her neighbor's boyfriend outpours vomit in the middle of the hall, while the mentioned neighbor stands there rubbing his back with a big fond smile glued to his face. 

Goddamn junkies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the scene was short but I didn't want to torture them anymore. The final scene has always been in my head. Happy that I finally could turn it into words. What do you think about it? I have several chapters left, but I see the clear flare of the end. As always, hope you liked it. Thank you for reading and not abandoning the fic.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following day after the previous chapter. Short chapter.

"Are you fucking kidding me!" Mickey pushes him for the third time, but no avail, he is dead asleep.   
How can he? Asshole!

Well, his asshole per se. Yap. Mickey now is a proud owner of this son of a bitch. He runs his hand through his hair, rubbing the scalp gently, and place a fond kiss on his temple. 

The asshole throws up all over the hall at night. Including on MIckey's favorite boots. 

Oh, right about that...

He gives a wholly deserved smack on the back of his head. Lip lets out a little groan and just keeps having his beauty fucking sleep on Mickey's bare chest totally unbothered. Jackass. 

Anyway, after vomiting everything in a radius of six feet, including Mickey himself, Mickey had to drag his half-conscious ass to the shower, wash him off, and clean all the mess he made. Lip was out like a light once his head hit the pillow, and was asleep since then. Unlike Mickey who barley slept two hours at most. Try to sleep with this king-fucking-kong on top of you, probably mistakenly taking you for Empire State freaking Building. Every fucking time! What the fucking habit is that, to mount Mickey, crushing him down? And not in a favorable way. Asshole has nerves to complain about Mickey kicking his ass during the sleep. How the fuck else is he supposed to defend himself? 

Fair to say, that partly he couldn't sleep because the previous day was a dreadful holocaust for his nerves. His nervous system is damaged for this society forever. 

Mickey sighs. 

Who cares. The adrenaline rush didn't fully wash off from his body and is making him feel edgy. He holds Lip tighter, partly because event the thought that is might be his imagination gives shivers of panic, partly because he missed him. So much. Still can't believe threw the years of sobriety to the trashcan in no time. 

Which reminds him of...

And Mickey is about to give him another fully earned sensible smack to the back of his head, when Gallagher shift himself on his chest, digs his face into the crook of his neck. He rubs his face against the skin, breathing in and muttering under his breath: "Mhm, Mickey" 

And Mickey's heart melts. 

This jackass gonna have him on strings, isn't he? Even in senseless self, he manages to buckle Mickey like a belt. But somehow he still can't bring himself to get pissed. Instead buries his hand into the mop of his hair, kissing lightly here and there, which doesn't help with his semi-hard erection he's been hanging out with for a while now, by the way. No, you are in no position to judge him. He is pressed to Lip skin to skin and from where he is lying he distinctly can observe a couple of impressive muscular reliefs he wasn't officially introduced to yet. Fucking Gallaghers and their obsession with work-outs or whatever. He often has been woken up by the huffs and puffs Lip was producing, while doing push-up at the foot of his bed. After Lip stopped sleeping in his bed, Mickey spent mornings laying and pretending that Gallagher is still there - on the same spot, doing his stupid work-out exercises and providing Mickey material for morning sex. That felt pathetic but that's beside the point. He missed this motherfucker, and now that Lip voluntary handed him his ass, Mickey will never let his fears and insecurities to stand between them. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------- 

Lip wakes up alone in the bed. A familiar scent like an invisible cloud was protecting his sleep. He feels like he actually had a rest first time in months. Digging his face into the pillow, he lets his lungs greedily squeeze in all the smell he can get and then eases down letting the scent do its magic. 

He flutters out of the bed offensively easily, comes to the kitchen, following the sound of kitchenware utilization. Lip finds him in the kitchen, standing in nothing but underwear and apron on bare skin. His heart skips a beat. It's something he wouldn't mind seeing every morning for the rest of his life. The previous night is still fresh in his head (and it's humiliating completing too), and if eliminate all the unnecessary nonsenses, he can conclude that, yeah, Mickey is his now. His mind is still trying to adapt to the idea, and he can feel a jiggle of excitement, combined with sudden timidity. 

Mickey turns around and his eyes catch Lip right away. He stops from whatever he was doing, shooting brows up in surprise. Then his face breaks into the infectious smile, lighting up his features. And it's so beautiful. And he is smiling at him, and he is so beautiful. And he belongs to him now. He is his now. 

Suck it, Marcus!

"Good morning, sexy," he says. Micke flushes a bit, and suddenly they don't know how to act on this new land called relationships. They are not shy or anything like that, they just haven't had a talk. The talk. Where each says their perception about this whole 'I'm yours. You're mine' thingy. 

"How are you feeling?" Mickey asks, the voice suddenly very serious while being overly preoccupied with the bread he is cutting. 

"Over the moon," 

Mickey doesn't spare a glance, but Lip can see how he is trying to hold his smile.

"Nah, I mean after getting trashed yesterday." He tries to express casualness but Lip sees the vein twitching on his forehead. He is again in "I'm not fucking mad, but try to breath not accordingly, I will break you in half" mode. 

"I feel good" Lip tries moving closer to the table Mickey operating at. "No hangover or sickness if that what you are at" 

"Okay," he says, sounding obvious, not okay, and Lip hates it with his gut. How is difficult to just scream at him once or even punch him, but NO. It's more fun to act like a passive aggressive ass than admit that he cares about Lip.

"Is something wrong?" 

"No," an immediate answer. 

Lip studies his profile. 

"Is it about me throwing up on you?" he tries. 

"Pfft, no" this one sounds more believable. 

Then what the fuck is wrong now? He just doesn't get why? Why? Wh- 

And, of course. 

Lip feels himself like a big idiot again, for the second time in these two days, for the hundredth time since he Mickey stormed into his life. It's time to come to terms. 

"I am not Ian," he says studying Mickey's reaction. The guy looks at him utterly surprised, "I won't break up with you. For caring." 

Mickey's face twitches from a painful memory.

"I won't break up with you for caring about me. I want you to care about me because I care about you." And adds "So much."

Mickey's expression softens, and with a gentle smile he approaches, making Lip heart skip a bit. He puts his left palm on his neck caressing skin, and Lip's breath speeds up as he leans onto the touch. Suddenly the hold on his neck tightens, and Mickey swinging his fist back throws a painful punch right onto the solar plexus. Lip not expecting a fetch just bends in half, moaning and probably would fall if Mickey didn't hold him tightly. It hurts like a fucking bitch, his tears coming out, things go black while tries to breath. 

"Sh-h" he shushes, holding him by the back of his neck and whispers into his ear,"See? if I see you even smelling anything slightly stronger than coffee, the only thing you will be able to consume for the next two months will be water and air." He whispers the warns, then leaves a couple of light smacks on his right cheek, leaving him to catch his breath.

Standing there still bent in half, trying to straighten up Lip thinks...

It's impossible to get happier than this. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"That was helluva punch right there" he smirks at Mickey, while they are sitting at the breakfast table. Lip was holding MIckey's feet on the corner of his chair between his thighs, rubbing the skin, as usual. 

"Just one strike" He warns, "Look at the booze funny, winking and whistling will be your only fucking abilities." 

"Then I will make sure to be winking and whistling in your direction as often as possible," Lip grins. 

"Asshole" Mickey mutters half-heartedly. 

"Your asshole" he points out quietly. 

Mickey looks over at him, and Lip half expects to be flipped off but he just nods. 

"My asshole" 

There is a pause stretches between them. 

"I shouldn't' have given up on us so quickly," Lip says first

"Yeah, me neither." Mickey says quietly,"I let my fears take me too far. Guess the fact that you're fucking straight and what Alex said didn't serve me well" 

"What did Alex say?"

"It's nothing. Eh. About you seeing someone, which is fine by the way-"   
  
"Mickey! What? No. That's not... I was talking to him about you. All along it's been only you. When would I have time even...?" 

"I don't know. Thought that's why you were ghosting my ass" he looks down, sulkily. 

"I didn't want that. I...I am an idiot. Convinced myself that I was standing between you and Ian. I wasn't cunning when said I want your happiness. I..." he almost says 'I love you' but restrain himself in time. That's now how he wants to say it. "That's gonna sound hackneyed but I didn't think that you'd want this. Want me." 

Mickey's changes in face, eyes get all dreary when he looks at him, as he lets out a deep sigh. He silently pulls his legs off Lip's chair, stands up, and sits on his lap instead. Lip immediately grabs him by his butt to hold from slipping away, and well, because he has full rights to do so. There are inches between their faces and Lip can feel his breath on his skin, his arms on his shoulders, fingers playing with the hair on the backside of his nape, and face just a tilt away from his. One little tilt and he can capture those lip he's been dreaming of the whole time they were apart. But right now Mickey directs the orchestra so he patiently waits, catching his every move, every micro gesture, reveling by how easily Mickey initiates it. He wonders what was stopping him before. 

Meanwhile, Mickey studies his face, eyes brushing over his face, eyes, and sticking on lips.  
"Philip Gallagher, you are such a dumbass," he says with a tenderness so alien to him,"There is no one I've ever wanted that fucking much in my entire life" and kisses him deeply, slowly and just rightly. 

"Perfect parallels..." Lip whispers, breathlessly into his mouth, when they pull back. Confusion on his flushed and dopey face makes him almost irresistible,"You once said that we are parallels. Aren't supposed to intersect." Mickey nods 'so?' "Perfect parallel exists only in theory. In reality it's impossible to make absolutely parallel to each other lines. They will meet eventually" 

"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow mischievously, "are you calling me an idiot, Philip?" 

"No" Lip chuckles, "Just saying that my line always going to skew towards yours" it's a promise and he hopes Mickey understands it. 

Mickey nods,"Okay. Then I guess I could meet you in a halfway" and, yeah, he got it. 

  



	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm bad with summaries, but it's several days after they get together. Let's call it an adaptation period.

Lip is the next. The last one he suspects. There is no reason to drag this out further more but it doesn't make this shit less uneasy. He breathes out air shakily, and he might be an asshole and generally known to be a tough cookie, so to say, but he's still inherent to the feeling of embarrassment and even shame. 

"Anyone want to come on here?" Rob's voice resonates from the walls of an old church, and Lip ignores his face changing when he raises his hand. "Ehm," he clears his throat, "Lip, why don't you...eh, yeah" he gestures to the spot next to him. 

When he takes the spot, he gives him a shot encouraging nod. That's meetings are all about: encouraging smiles, nods, understanding eyes, and uncovered pity, the last one is probably the worst. 

"Uh, yeah. I am Lip ...and, eh, I am alcoholic." 

"Hi, Lip." 

"I was sober for three years and seven months...until yesterday. " he meets understanding eyes, almost nodding in solidarity." Uhm," he turns his head to Rob as if it would give him a clue what to say next, but yet another nod that to his surprise helps. It does. He's seen people doing it numbers of times, but somehow it's still almost unbearably hard to speak. "I was going through both the best and the worst period of my life. Overwhelming raises and crushing falls were replacing each other with the speed of light. The one a word away from the other. But..." 

The doors of the old church open with loud creak echoing loudly in the big hall. Lip pauses, eyes widening in surprise, seeing Mickey nonchalantly walking across the hall. He scans the space and eyes fall on Lip, making the latter blink amazed. Mickey gives him the man 'wuttup' nod and like nothing's odd happneing heads towards the seats in front of him. Lip stares at him and until he hears Rob's fake cough next to him. 

"Ehm, yeah. As I was saying..." he watches Mickey walking down the aisle, stopping in the middle and goes between pews, exchanging hisses and curses with a middle-aged lady in the halfway. He is sitting in the center of Lip's view and Lip thinks that maybe he started hallucinating. Mickey Milkovich decided that his heart is not enough and decided to take his sanity too. The wave of whispers appears here and there in the audience."Right. As I was saying, I had a tough year. And two days ago it took a critical point."Mickey frowns, leaning forward, elbows resting on the back of the bench in front of him. " And I...I didn't want to drink. Not really. But all was just unbearable that at that moment self-disgust and shame felt like bliss in comparison." 

People let out whispers, and sighs of surprise, or understanding hums and 'been there' nods. 

"I guess I wanted to punish myself for being weak."   
Mickey presses his lips together tightly, his frown deepens. Disapproving his mind flow, Lip guesses. He looks down at his hands.  
"But.Uhm...I always thought that drinking will be my only problem. As my life, like a carousel, will always be spinning around it or around the consequences one way or another stemming from it. I wrapped myself around it and didn't see anything behind it. Anyone behind it." He looks at Mickey, "But life is a funny thing I guess." He lets out a dry chuckle to cover nervousness, "Turned out black has lots of shades. Turned out the blackness has a lot of depths."

He looks down again.

He pauses to bring his thoughts in order. It's harder than he remembers, but to his surprise, Mickey's sudden appearance kinda helps. Cause he can tell Mickey everything. Cause in the room full of people all he can see is Mickey. 

"I didn't want to be that person. You know, alcoholic, boozer, or fuck. Didn't want to live in a spiral from prehab to rehab and back. Didn't want to be that guy and didn't want to have anything to do with him. So I was distancing from this image, the same way I was distancing from all people in my life. Important people. Because 'I didn't need their help', because 'there was nothing help with', cause 'there was nothing wrong with me'. But this only pinned me harder to the wall. Alcohol abuse created a borderline between normal and me, and going to the normal wasn't an option for me anymore. I was turning myself into a walking Alcatraz without realizing it. I took quite a time and hell lot of will power to get this shit through my head. To let others help, allow me to have help. But then I setback. And I felt nothing. Dull emptiness. There was no fear I was so desperately running away from. The boogie-man behind my window appeared to be a tree under a fortuitous light display." He sees a couple of scowls on the audience,"I'm not saying that the problem is not real. What I am trying to say is that I let myself believe that there is nothing outside of my addiction, that being a problem drinker is the worst thing that could happen to me." He clarifies, "I was wrong. There are lots of worse things out there...and it's wonderful." 

He approaches Mickey, who twists his way out of the pew earning a couple of 'bland' names from a lady sitting next to him. Lip vaguely knows her, who is sitting here and there scowl permanently plastered to her face. 

"Hey," he Lip, feeling a light bashfulness entirely new to his system. Is that how he is going to function now? 

"Hey to you too," he says, grinning playfully eyes falling on his lips, and Lip wonders what would he do if he kissed him here. Just a peck on the lips. 

"What are you doing here?" he asks stepping closer, his hand finding its way onto Mickey's elbow, clenching into the hardness of polyester coat. 

"Thought you need some support. Wasn't sure what to do at the end, applause, maybe or yell your name on the top of my lungs" he smirks and lets himself lean closer, voice lowering to a whisper. Mickey's is flirting. Has he done that before? Probably he did, but not in the room full of people. 

"You should have that, and _I_ could leave an autograph on you breast and take you to my tour bus to do all the unspeakable in this church things to you." He murmurs into his ears, enjoying how Mickey's breath speeds up.  
  
"Yeah," he breathes out,"I'm a groupie now?" 

"The top-notch one" he smirks and gets a slap on the crotch. 

"This place is fancy as fuck. Not a trash cane you visited in South Side." Mickey says looking around with an assessing gaze. 

"Couldn't keep going to that one. This is a lot closer." He explains still studying him. 

"Are those donuts on the table?" Suddenly Mickey exclaims. 

Lip looks back at the table with a snack and coffee and grins. He has the sweetest fucking tooth Lip has ever seen. 

"Yeah, that's yeah. You want one?" 

"Try four. And move faster before that faggot didn't grab the last chocolate muffin" 

The scowly lady again raised from nowhere, sharply sucking air in and letting out yet another hiss of heavy disapproval, bordering with horror. 

"Hey, this place doesn't tolerate homophobic language," she says pointing her finger towards Mikcey, all worked up and ready to start a full-rage scandalous scene. 

"The fuck that has to do with-"

"Please, excuse my boyfriend. He forgot his manners at home." Lip gets himself in between, and pulling Mickey expressively by his waist so close, he can feel Mickey surprised huff on his neck and drilling eyes staring at him. 

The woman opens her mouth as about to protest, but closes immediately. She swallows the awkwardness, apparently not happy by the turnout, leaves without putting a comment. Some people just need a reason to start a fight, Lip can't help but sigh. 

Mickey clears his throat next to him, and Lip lets him go unsure if he crossed the line by unwarned PDA. Mickey looks a bit baffled, and maybe shy, but not pissed. 

"Was it alright?" 

"What? Yeah, totally. Pfft." he chatters, showign nonchalance with all he has, and not looking Lip in the eyes, with face way to flushed for this poorly heated place. 

If you think Mickey is cute, you should see shy Mickey. So fucking adorable. Lip wonders if there is a pantry somewhere here and if he can talk Mickey into a make-out inside the holy walls. 

"Lip," Rob interrupts before Lip decides to take a chance, "Nice speech. Glad to see that it didn't bring you down," he claps his shoulder, then looks at Mickey," And you brought a friend. Are you new to these meetings?" 

"Me? Fuck no! You will have to pry booze form my cold, dead hands." He huffs. 

Rob looks at Lip with a mixed expression on the face. Lip just shrugs. It's Mickey. 

"Oh-kay," he seems quick to get a grip on himself, "Well I am Rob. Lip's sponsor." He offers a hand that Mickey quick to shake.

"Mickey. His..." He makes a pause throwing a glance at Lip,"... boyfriend."

If Rob is surprised by Mickey's uncertainty, he doesn't show it. 

"I'll leave you to chat. There is a last donut that I lay my eye- Hey! Put that fucking donut back!" He vigorously steps away.

Lip grins at Rob's expression, watching Mickey ruling around the table. 

"He is...exceptional" Rob comments politely 

"One of a kind." He confirms.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------

The last three days were heavenly. They didn't go out of MIckey's flat. From his bed, if we need to be precise here. But Lip had his portion of obligations he committed not to neglect from now on, which is his family. In the last couple of years, he was nothing but a poor excuse for a brother. That's why he feels bad for not recalling Ian these three days until Liam called and said that Ian hasn't left his bed for the past days. Mickey's face expresses the same imprint of guilt Lip was feeling when he says that he needs to be at home for some time. They might have got carried away by being absorbed in each other, and bailed on the rest of the world behind the walls. 

Everything was exactly as Liam has told. Ian was in a blanket cacoon, not showing a sign of life. Lip uses Liam's help to take him to the shower and change his clothes. Ian has put an enormous amount of work to have the balance he has now, and Lip feels yet guilty again for so easily letting him slip off the track. Fortunately, everything was not as bad as he feared it might be. On the fifth day after he came back from Mickey, Lip was talking to his doctor about changing the dosage of his pills, when Ian comes down looking all blue and melancholic, sleepy and exhausted. But he left the bed at his own will, which Lip feared would take a lot longer. 

He silently sits on the table and Lip offers him some food, to which Ian wrinkles his nose in disgust. He makes him a tea with honey, anyway that Ian to his relief slowly sips it slouching over the kitchen table. 

Ian's voice is quiet, monotonous, and raspy when he speaks.

"Did you see him?" He looks up and of course, the first thing he asks is gonna be Mickey. 

"Yeah," he says, looking down on his coffee mug.

"What did he...What did he say?" there are more emotions in his voice this time, while his face shows an interest in something the first time since his appearance in the kitchen.

"He said..." What he was supposed to feel. How do you feel when your brother asks about your boyfriend. "He said he forgave you" 

He hears an audible exhale from Ian and looks over at him. He stares down eyes running across the table, hands run through his hair shakily. 

"I wasn't sure that was real," he says, and looks up. "Thought that I hallucinated or he, I don't know, he said that to get rid of my ass." 

"He wouldn't do that," Lip argues 

"I know," Ian shakes his head, "It's just seemed too fucking good to be true. That's all." 

Lip wants to do something, give or say something that will make a change. But there is jack shit he can do about it. 

"How do you feel?" he asks instead. 

"Like a fucking piece of shit." Ian nods."Mostly guilty, ashamed, and embarrassed." He sighs, and his eyes are wet but he doesn't cry."A little bit angry. Can't stop thinking how fucking ridiculous I must have looked all this time wrapping myself in denial and how much Mickey must hate me."

"He doesn't hate you." Lip gasps.

"You don't know that," Ian shakes his head."I ruined everything. Everything I touch turns into the fucking trash." 

"And he forgave you," he reminds 

"You don't get it. You didn't see him there" he would shout if he had enough strength. Lip face twitches in confusion, "His face after he said all that. He was sitting over that stupid cake and looked so.... So shattered, desperate, and hopeless. I've never so heartbroken. And I was the one who broke his heart number of times." 

It's painful to hear and Lip wants to cover his ears and has an irrational wish to go back in time to that ill-fated evening to punch himself in the gut and wants to hold Mickey tightly, offering all of him, promising to do everything it takes to make him happy. 

"Deep inside always thought we will end up..." Ian admits, as he takes a deep drag."Bold of me was to assume that we could pick up from where we've left." He lets out a dry laugh, "Do you know the guy?" Lip raises his brow, "No need to pretend, man. Mickey's boyfriend, you know him?" 

Lip doesn't reply, and Ian doesn't push. 

"Of course you do." he sighs, "Is it the Russian guy? Wait, no. I don't want to know. Don't trust me right now." 

He finishes his cigarette and takes the second one, and Lip wants to stop him because smoking on empty stomach is not the best idea. 

"I don't know how to look Mickey in the eyes." Ian continues.

"He forgave you, Ian. He told it himself." Which is true. 

Ian lifts his gaze looking as if that precise fact gives him physical pain.

"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe he shouldn't have forgiven and let me get away with it so easily," he says angrily. 

Lip knows Ian is not mad at Mickey precisely, he just trying to handle his emotions, and doesn't understand what direct them to. 

"Ian he forgave you. Maybe you need to do the same to yourself," he says quietly and watches his temper blowing off, switching back to the hurt expression. Ian looks away and they quiet for a minute or two. 

"Maybe I can't do it," he mumbles so quietly, Lip is not sure if it was said to be heard. 

"Then you have to learn to live with it." He says, which is not encouraging but that's the reality they have now. And judging by his expression Ian knows it. He gives him a thoughtful nod, and they sit in silence each thinking his own thing. 

"I'm scared." He says, and the atmosphere in the room rapidly changes, invisible tension appearing from nowhere. 

"Of what?" 

"Of that guy." Ian looks at him, worry written on his face, "You should have seen Mickey's face, man" he says thoughtfully, looking through Lip "Whoever this fucking guy is, I feel like I won't stand a chance against him, and it terrifies me." 

Ian, even unknowingly, saying that about him makes him feel deeply uncomfortable. He squirms on his sit to reduce the distress. All this time he was terrified of Ian taking Mickey away form him, and never in his bravest dreams didn't think it might be the other way around. But here they are. What will happen when he'll know that 'that guy' is his own brother?

Lip is so fucked up   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading. Really hope you enjoy it. Comments and kudos are always welcomed.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next day after Lip's AA meeting. Moslty Micley's POV. Chapter is a bit too sappy, IDK.

"I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!" Mickey exclaims loudly, and it takes Brenda totally off guard. To begin with, he was sitting in radio silence for the past twenty minutes, although all his body language was screaming that he's a second away from an explosion. Manically fidgeting, his fingers were drumming armrest, right foot swinging on the left knee was swaying one mad rhythm. He was completely absent-minded, and out of reach to whatever Brenda tried to deliver so she gave up. 

"Fuck!" She exclaims, when the dumb boy on her phone screen gets smashed against the wall, "I mean, great" she trails putting away her phone. 'Subway surfer' can wait she assumes. 

She runs what he just said in her head.   
  
"Wait. Did you say you have a boyfriend?" 

He smiles bashfully

"Yeah" he stretches, biting his grin and trying to play it cool. Half an hour in complete detachment with this world bamboozled his attempts, so too late with that. 

"Mhm?" She smiles and leans back, staying his body language."Lip?" 

"Who else?" He huffs, "Got me hooked on his dick. What can I do?" He shares a wide grin.

Jim enters the room with two cups of coffee on the tray she asked two minutes ago, tired contemplating Mickey's prostration. 

"You heard Jimmy boy? I gotta boyfriend" 

"Does the guy know about it?" 

Mickey effortlessly ignores the sarcasm.

"Now that I'm not single and no longer allowed to mingle, you and I cannot happen. Sorry." 

"Devastated," he comments drily and puts a cup on the coffee table in front of Mickey. 

"You do know he is straight." She states narrowing her eyes. 

"So?" he frowns in confusion. 

"He is getting married this spring." 

"Really? Who is the lucky guy-" 

"Girl" she corrects 

"-girl. Who is the lucky girl?" 

She can't hold her chuckle and he joins in. 

"Do you think he spiked my drink tho?" He asks sniffing the consistency of the cup and wrinkling his nose.

"No-o" she stretches, "Jimmy wouldn't do that"

Mickey raises his eyebrow skeptically. 

"Wanna trade cups?"

"Yeah, no. I'm good" she says in a high-pitch voice. 

With an unimpressed face, he pours his drink onto the innocent ficus standing next to, without tearing his gaze from her. Well, she is not very fond of this plant anyway, or any other flora for that matter. Just another present from a patient she couldn't decline. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------  
"So. Boyfriend? How did it happen?" 

"Well..." 

And he tells her everything happened that night. How snapped at Ian, how though that Lip was dumping him, about Alex hinting that Lip is seeing someone and how dead it made him feel inside. He told him about Ian following his ass home and refused to leave unless they talk, how Mickey lost control and incinerating rage he felt flowing in his vein, while he was saying all those things to Ian, enjoying the hurt expression on the twisted face. Then Ian's outburst changed the vector of a pressure point in no time. He blows out a long sigh telling about Lip seeing them kissing, running off, and coming back hammered. The story ended on a good note, but Mickey still was edgy on the corners. 

"That's a lot to handle for one night. How are you feeling now?" She asks worriedly when he spills out the events of the past week. 

"Good. Great actually," he lolls back on over the couch resting his hands behind his head, "Life seems finally getting better." 

"What about Ian?" 

"What about him?" 

It's not that Mickey's eating his heart out thinking about him. Ian did hurt him. Sometimes consciously, and sometimes not. Mickey can confidently say that he if not genuinely feel for him, at least doesn't hate him that for sure, which is something. 

"You really forgave him?" Mickey sighs dropping his hands on his laps. 

"Yeah," he brushes the corner of his mouth, "I mean... All those times you said I'm not a Southside white-trash finally hit me to the core. I guess part of me was reluctant to let things go because it would mean that I had to give up on the big part of my life, part of me I guess. And fuck if I was ready to hit the road to uncertainty. It never was about me though." He looks at his hands, "It's his demons. And he already has enough on his plate. Besides, fear makes us do pretty fucked up shit." 

She nods.

"Did you talk to him after..." She makes spins her finger in the air.

"No. Lip's said he is depressed. I think whatever fuck I do, will make the shit get worse." 

"Do you want to do anything about it?" 

Mickey frowns. 

"I dunno." He mumbles

"You want to be friends?" 

Mickey frown deepens, there are wrinkled lines on his forehead. 

"Don't know. I guess I'll know if I see him." He admits. 

She excepts his answer but then something in this story doesn't settle in her head. 

"What's with a cake and a compliment? Is it some trend your generation busy with?" She makes a face. 

"Okay, granny. First of all, I seen your profile on that fancy-ass website. You're like five lame fucking years older than me, which makes us the same fucking generation. Second of all, who the fuck you think I am? Tik-Tok starlet?"

He tells her about the apology cake tradition. How his mom used to do it and how Lip and him picked it up. 

"What?" He reflects her nostalgic smile. 

"An apology. I think I know exactly what it is." Mickey shakes his head 'what?', she hesitates before letting out a sigh of surrender, "My dad used to disappear every once in while back in the days, leaving me and my sisters alone under the roof to take care of ourselves"

Mickey nods. He knows a thing or two about trashy parents. 

  
"I was the youngest of four and we didn't have a mother or any other legal guardian. Sometimes it was real hard to go through, especially during the winters," she looked at the window, where snow was falling. "And then he was getting back, all sorry and apologetic under the burden of guilt. Those times were magical." a moony smile finds its way on her face, "He'd always make a cake he called a 'Vesuve'. Once helped me with a science project, the volcano's name stuck in his head. The cake was such a disaster!" She laughs hysterically, rubbing the first sign of tears in the corner of eyes, "His skills in baking were below zero, and our kitchen was barely stocked with enough ingredients anyway. He used all stuff he could reach for. Frozen waffles went for biscuits, pieces of chocolate bars here and there, all covered with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. He'd decorate it with salty/savory chips and cookies, and use orange M&Ms as artificial lava."

She laughs at Mickey's twisted with disgust face. 

"Yeah, it tasted as dreadful as it sounds, but he looked so proud of himself that we'd no gut to tell him that. He'd walk around the house in pair of self improvised braces and glasses imitating Urkel until we all, even my eldest sister Shonda, were laying on the floor, laughing our ass off."

Then she sighs, and she changes in the face as if she blows out all the joy she was radiating with that sigh. The next she says is has a deep sour aftertaste. "He left anyway. It had to happen eventually." she nods like she is trying to convince someone, "He knew it. We knew it. But each of us tried to avoid this topic my all truths as if it would change a thing." She tries to hold unwanted tears to come out, "He always wanted sons, but had four girls. I think it frustrated him to deal with four growing up each day girls." 

Mickey doesn't interrupt her. Partly because there is nothing he can say, partly because he was on the same spot shit tons of time and knows that it won't do Goddamn thing. 

"I was his favorite though. Both fierce Chicago Cups fans, we didn't miss a game. I even managed to get him a baseball signed by Shawon Thunder Pup Dunston." She chuckles, "For him, I was capable do things unheard of. The best at school, the best at sports, whole head above my peers at every damn thing, like I always had something to prove. Little Brenda always trynna make her daddy proud." she lets a dry humorless laugh out. "One day I came from school and he was gone. Sisters thought that he'll be back soon, even started a pool on when exactly we can expect him home. I entered his room and the first thing I saw was the ball with a sign gone from the top of the drawer where it has always been. I knew that he is not coming back."

Mickey knew how ended the moment she started her story, but still can't help but feel mad at the man who dared to leave such an amazing person. 

"Did you see him after he left?" 

"No. But heard that he lives in West Village. Has a family. Two sons and a stable job." Her smile is almost genuine, “I'm glad that he lives the life he wanted." 

Mickey is not really on board with that one. A couple of punches here and there wouldn't be wouldn't hurt. 

"Well fucking bad for him. You carry the biggest balls among all people I know, and trust me I know pretty brutal motherfuckers." 

She laughs against her will, wiping the wetness off of the eyes' corners. 

"I'm sorry it was so unprofessional." 

"Oh, please. I've been banging my boss past months."

"And now you are dating him." She reminds. 

"Now I am dating him" he hopes one day he will stop radiating like a bulb each fucking time he remembers about it. 

"I'm still surprised that you easily let that slip out of your mouth. I expected you to go into a month-long denial... you know get all Mickey." she lets out a chuckle. 

The attempt to go back to the common track wasn't left unnoticed by Mickey, but he plays along. 

"Try to chase his ass around, having a massive fucking jones for him, the necessity of self-defiance eliminates itself." Mickey sniffs. 

Brenda narrows her eyes. She had to work with Mickey long enough to know that there is nothing, never easy about Milkovich.

"That's it? You ready just go with it?" 

Mickey grins scratching along his eyebrow with a back of a thumb. 

"The other morning he called me boyfriend in front of an old ashtray who was second away from scratching my eyes-"

"What's with you and old women?"

"Fuck if I know? Those old hags hate my fancy-ass for no reason." he ignores her sarcastic 'yeah, right'. As a shrink, she could have been more delicate with her approaches.

"So he called you his boyfriend and what did that make you feel?" She goes to the full shrink mode. 

"It felt, eh, natural?" He rolls the word in his mouth before he nods confirmingly. "I don't know, man. It's not like it left me in-fucking-different. There was some shitty part of me who always screws me over that kept chanting that it's not real or that he will get sick of my ass by the end of this week. But when he said what he said, it sounded like truth. A fact." 

She nods with a warm smile. She works her ass off trying to drag him out of his ghetto shell, and now some random dude comes over and masters the years of her sweat and tears with a couple of words. Who are you, Lip Gallagher? 

"I'd like to meet your man one day," she says

"Not a problem. You should come over to the restaurant someday." He pulls out some square piece of plastic card."It's a membership card. Gets you half price to all cocktails and a 15% discount for all the food. But don't order anything with too many consonants in the name. Svetlana got nostalgic and added some rare inedible shit that you won't believe is legal." 

There were so many times in her practice when the patient wanted to meet outside of the office. You see, her practice is predetermined that her patients implicitly trust her, which for many of them is a luxury, which is why they go through therapy in the first place. It gives huge benefits in the healing process, but people she works with are already pretty sensitive and, unfortunately, she already had some extreme cases involving police and order restriction. Not that any of those cases can be implied to Mickey, in fuck he is an exception in a broad sense in so many ways, mostly because she also would want to hang out with him. He is her Everest but he is also her favorite patient. There are not so many people she likes spending her time with, considering how tight for time she usually is. She without compunction or hesitation can cancel all her clients throughout the day because Mickey has a love crisis. Just cause she wants. But there are line crossing which would be beyond professionalism.

"Mickey," she says softly, "No matter how tempting it is I can't take up an offer. We wouldn't want to jeopardize your progress, would we?" 

Skilled with years of experience eye she notes a mile-second between a surprise and tinsel indifference, an embarrassment. Being rejected is something Mickey feels hard to deal with. But she needs to be unshakable just this one time. 

"Come on. Who hangs out with shrinks? We are the least fun people. I'm so annoying out of these walls, you'd be terrified." She tries to tape the situation. 

"No, I get it." He quickly looks around, his eyes catching the clock on the wall."Time is up. I gotta go." 

"Mickey-"

"See you next Wednesday" he quickly picks his backpack and opens the door to leave, but suddenly stops holding a doorknob, "You are wrong."

She needs to strain to hear barely audible words. 

"I'd really love to hang out with you."

And leaves. 

She sighs. She really hopes it's not gonna affect the therapy. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

He almost has to drag himself home. Lip wasn't supposed to be home, since Ian was depressed and, well, his family needed him. But a very whimsical part of him wanted to whine his ass off desperately. He just got him back. They barely spent three days together (thanks to Svetlana who agreed to cover them both up), which is hardly compensates for the month without Gallagher. He could have pulled some demands on the new rights of a boyfriend, but again, his family needs him, and also, he doesn't want to be a clingy type of boyfriend. Perhaps too late with that, but whatever. 

To his surprise Mickey finds Lip in his kitchen, placing groceries. 

"Whatcha doing?" He enters taking off his coat in the way. 

"Hey," Lip approaches to leave a light peck on his lips like it's not a big deal like he didn't just take Mickey's breath away. "Was doing grocery for home, got you something." He puts milk and juice into the fridge."We don't want you to eat cereal and frozen lasagna all day every day, do we?" He gives him a mischievous smile.

"That's a real men's food." He grumbles, then sits at the table watching him across the table. He clears his throat, "How long you'll be gone then?"

"I don't know, man" he looks at him over the bags he lifts from the floor. How many shits did he get here? "Ian looks pretty bad. Need to visit the clinic to talk to his psychiatrist about a new dosage of his drugs, make him drink something, and show up at work once in a while. Svetlana is pretty badass at administrating but even her powers are not limitless." 

"Never underestimate that bitch," Mickey scoffs."So-o, does it mean that I have to go to work to see you?" He asks cooly and by the gaze with which Lip is looking at him, he is fooling no one. 

"Well that and also that's your working place." he holds his grin. 

"Yeah, well I have a privilege not to give much shit about it."   
  
"What kind of privilege is that?" leans forward over the table. 

"Banging my boss kind of privilege." He says with a smug.

"Yeah?" He captures his lips, pulling them teasingly "sleeping your way up on career ladder?" he whispers against his lips.

Mickey snorts. 

"Career ladder? Seriously?" 

"It's a role-play. Play along." He giggles.

"O-oh. Yeah, I love men in charge." He says exaggeratedly, "It really gets me going. Can I call you Mr.Gray?" 

Lip laughs and pushes himself away from Mickey, going back to the grocery. 

"Don't eat snacks while I'm away, man. Your gastrologist said to stay away from anything sweet, greasy, and sour. Got you fruits. Eat them." He warns. 

How the fuck did he miss their transition to an old cranky couple? He mentioned his visit once and now Lip is all over his ass about that stupid diet. 

"It's just a fucking stress. I will be fine in a week." Lip gives him a look,. He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Eat fruits, don't eat junk. Noted." 

"And take our shit from dry-cleaning." 

"Eat fruits, don't look at junky food, take shit from dry-cleaning. Got it. It's not like you'll be gone for a long." 

Lip sighs, "I dunno, man. Of course, I'll see you at work. But guess we won't be able to do much there, do we?" 

"Eat fruits, don't look at the junky, take shit from dry-cleaning, and use a butt-plug. Got it." He jokes but by how he comically drops cans he was ordering no the shelf he didn't fully get the humor. 

"Butt-p...you have it?" 

He sits at the table right across Mickey. 

"A few, yeah. Butt-plugs, dildos, and a couple of other toys," he responds rather surprised by such reaction.

"I literally live here for months and didn't see a shit from that list." 

"I hid them. Didn't want my old sex toys were jealous of my new sex toy." He kicks Lip's foot playfully earning a grin.

"Where?" 

"In my workshop." 

"Agh, right. The room I suppose to pretend doesn't exist. Voldemort of all rooms. Am I ever allowed to enter there?" 

"Nope. Never. Ever." He responds adamantly. 

"Not suspicious at all. Are you keeping someone there? Is it Scott? I haven't seen him ages?"

Mickey gives him a face. "The would I keep Scott anywhere near me?" 

"Right cause if there someone to capture it would be Marcus, isn't it?" Lips comments dryly. 

"You...What the fuck with you and Marcus? You never even met the guy."

"He is a model looking and saw you naked. Turned out that enough to hate him." 

And Mickey's taken aback that Lip actually admits being jealous. Not that Mickey could hold his shit together whenever costumers try to flirt with Lip, or some suppliers get all overly (overly!) friendly. 

"I literally brought up the guy one fucking time. And didn't see him for like months." 

And it's true. Now it was Iggy's work to deliver the junk to him. Lip visibly relaxes. 

"Yeah?" he asks, "I mean we weren't like officially together-together at that time." 

Mickey hates himself for butterflies each fucking time he is reminded that they are together. Fucking hate it.

"Well, I didn't." 

"And any other guys?" 

"No, just you. What about you? Any half-woman half-plastic on your bed?" 

"Jealousy looks really good on you" he reaches for his hand and squeezes it. He never thought that Lip can get all sentimental and touchy, on other hand he never thought he can turn in to a pussy over this curly son of a bitch. "and no, no woman or plastic whatsoever. Wouldn't have a time preoccupied with work and your ass." He smirks, giving him a look, "So, about the butt-plug. I kinda have some time. You need a hand with that?"

"I don't know," he smirks, "You think you can do it? Bet you never done it before."

"Oh, I'm natural." 

They both are grinning into the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All errors are entirely mine. Thank you for reading, commenting and kudos. You guys are amazing!


	40. Chapter 40

Lip gets back on Saturday. After a 'welcome' sex they are lying on the bed, and Mickey asks him about Ian. His head resting on Gallagher's shoulder, as he lets post-sex afterglow linger in his body.

"He feels better. A lot better." He says, absently running fingers through Mickey's hair. 

"Mhm, that's good." 

How long should he wait before giving it a second? What does etiquette demand? Is there a protocol for that? 

Then he looks up to find a thoughtful expression on Lip's face, "What is it?"

"We gotta tell him. Tell Ian" their eyes meet. 

Mickey lets out a slight whimper, nuzzling into Gallagher's crook of the neck, and rubs his face against him, "Do we?" 

"You know we have to." his fingers keep light brushing, which soothes Mickey, making him careless about whatever shit they have to deal with out of these walls. 

"Or we could just skip that part and see what happens," 

Lip chuckles pulling his hair slightly. "I have to tell him."

"No!" Mickey looks up again, "We are in the same boat and we'll do it together." 

"I'm his brother." He frowns.

"Yeah, well. You had balls big enough to tell my sister, but this one. You don't have to do it on your own. You got me." He mumbles, resting his head back, and feels a light brushes of his lips against his head and temple. 

"I got you." He echoes, "You are mine. Got through the hell, but finally, I have you. The rest of the world can suck my dick." 

And something about the last line gives Mickey the chills. 

He giggles. 

"What?" Lip grins down

"Everyone gonna be gobsmacked when you drop them 'I fuck dude' bomb" 

Lip huffs. "I think who will really be shocked is Alex" 

Mickey looks up at him, "Mhm?"

Lip lets out a chortle, "He kinda thought that we were been dating for months by now." 

Mickey snorts, "Or Svetlana. She's been referring to you exclusively as my boyfriend." 

"Yeah, which was weird considering that I'm her boss, but it felt like I'm nothin more but your plus one." He takes a pause, "Although looking back we were together all the time. We fucked, we hanged out, we ate, and basically were around each other all the fucking time. She might have been the right one whole this time." 

The idea that they were together this whole time without realizing tickles Mickey's fancy. He runs his hand over the relief of muscles so firm and flexible under his touch. Going nuts by the heat coming from his body and the fact that he is very much entitled to brush his hand over his shoulder, squeezing the biceps lightly, run the broadness of his chest, 'accidentally' catching nipples, making them hard. 

"Fiona also knows," Lip informs, breathily. 

"Yeah? How is she?" Mickey asks just to be polite. 

"In a cult," Lip's breath quickens 

"Typical"

"Runs a cult," he corrects himself 

"Good idea for a start-up," Mickey says, hands slowly tracing down to his belly, caressing the smooth skin. 

"Wanna start your own cult? Cause you already have one member who worships hell out of your butt." He lets out a breathy chuckle. Not skipping a beat he gently palms his dick, forcing blood rapidly rush to that area, making him harder with each stroke. 

"I'm starting to think that you like me only for my ass."  
  
He shifts himself down to his crotch level, balancing on his elbows. 

"Nah, it's all your bright personality right there won me over." 

"Cut the bullshit when my teeth are so dangerously close to your dick." He says, before fully swallowing him. 

  
\---------------------------------------------------------------- 

Dr.Weber gave him food for thought after his embarrassing departure (it's starting to get annoying) from her office. Question if he wants Ian in his life wasn't on the table. Mickey is in love with his brother and things are gonna be intertwined whether he wants it or not. The right question would be: at what range he wants him in his life? When they were dating Mickey remembers him being kinda cool to be around, but Mickey was in love. That might have skewed his perception. They both have changed after all, and it's not like Mickey overcame years of malice in coupla days. Motherfucker is still his enemy number 1. Mickey just happens to have a very short enemy list after his dad was assisted to take a dirt nap.

Lip said he is dramatizing again (fuck him), and that if he wants to be his friend he can be, and if he doesn't want it, no one can force him. Fucker is no help at all. Thank God he is pretty.   
  
Mickey changed into his uniform and got out to the hall. It was early in the morning. Streets were freezing, making Mickey shiver and feel happy to be on this side of the window. He served coffee takeaways to a couple of women in suits and kept himself busy lallygagging. He visited the washroom to check toilet paper, soap, and other bullshit that is not on his job description but yet he does because his ex-wife also happens to be his boss and bitch milks best out of it. When he reenters the hall he finds a lonely redhead figure sitting in the same spot it was occupying for last months. He shouldn't be surprised to see him. They were supposed to meet one day or another, but somehow he still can't suppress the palpable weight of anxiety in his chest. As selfish as that might be he wanted to postpone this conversation as far to the future as possible.   
  
Mickey approaches him, and in his head, all he could hear is: Do I want him in my life? Do I want to see him in my life?   
  
He got to the table he manages to look over at Ian. From close, he looks like shit. Skinny, pale glassy, with those dark circles and only half-dead expression overall he could effortlessly blend in a zombie crowd.   
  
He intensively studies the table, not daring to lift his eyes at Mickey. "Look like shit, man" he comments pulling out from Ian half huffs or something that suppose to be laughter.  
  
"Feel the same" he furtively steals a glance of him.  
  
Mickey gives a thoughtful nod and leaves him, walking to the bar counter. He yells at the top of his lungs.  
  
"I'm taking a break!" To Kev who came five minutes ago and was changing to the uniform. 

Ian looks up with an expression half-surprised and half-hurt, squeezing his hand into a tight fist, holding the sorrow that wants to come out in form of tears. OF course, Mickey doesn't want to see him. Why would he? He must think he is a lame and pesky fucking loser. 

Depression is leaving his system bringing his emotions back to life with more intense as if trying to compensate for their lack for a week. He feels like one bund of nerves, being too sensitive to any mild irritants. His body needs a week or two to adapt it's way back to its normal, relatively stable mode. Would be wise to outwit this time anywhere not around Mickey, but he was all he could think of the past week. Past months if want to be precise. But after their conversation his mind refused to focus on anything else but Mickey, obsessively providing thoughts, ideas, and memories about him. The last one is the worst because they bring nothing but pain. Ian also discovered a tendency to change those memories, like a dissatisfying storyline. Slowly it was growing into compulsive daydreamings, like a small time travel where he's given a chance to fix all his mistakes and do shit right once for all. He could spend hours imagining his life with Mickey and the brighter he was playing it in his head the more painful it was becoming to face back the reality. 

"Wait already? Come on man, you just got here!" Kev comes out of the kitchen, tying his apron up, his eyes fall on Mickey who is taking a menu, and passes him by towards Ian who looks so small in the big empty hall. "Oh...Yeah, man. Whatever. Take as much time as you need." 

Kev might be not the brightest man in the room. Okay, lets be honest, he is not the brightest man in most of the rooms, but even he got that there is shit going on between those two, and if before he would easily stake his life on that he will eventually enter on them fucking in storeroom, now he was feeling that the whole collocation is different. He feels like he's been fooled for some reason. 

Mickey sits across gaping at him in surprise Ian. Well, any emotion is better than the comatose expression he was wearing the whole morning, Mickey thinks. 

"You hungry? I'm starving. Couldn't shove anything proper in the morning." He says opening the menu, under the wide eyes Ian was giving him. "I would offer you a menu, but I bet you know it by heart by now," Mickey says looking at the picture of food and ignores the way Ian dropped his eyes down on his own hands embarrassingly. 

He is not really hungry. Just trying to play for time to orient his way out. He still doesn't know if he wants Ian around himself. The answer should be no. Most people don't hang out with their exes. Why should he? 

"So?" he raises eyebrows.

"I...No. I'm good." 

"You sure? We serve brains if that's what your zombie diet demands." Ian gives him crooked smile. "The service here is fucking disaster. Is anyone gonna serve us today!?" He yells, and Ian gives away another unwilling smile. 

"What would you like to order?" Kev that raises from nowhere asks wryly. 

"Mhm," he bites his lips, "Do those crepes come with different stuffings?" 

"You know they do, you petty son of a bitch?" 

"Someone just lost his tip," Mickey mumbles frowning into the menu. 

"Oh, I bet you really were intending to tip," Kev huffs.

  
"Well, now you will never know." He makes a fact at Kev and looks at Ian, "What've I told you about service?" he shakes his head, "Anyway, get me crepes and a milkshake, with lots of cream. And when I said lots I mean a hell lot of cream. I want to be able to take a bath in that amount of cream. Recently I am forced to cut the sugar in the wall of my own house." He says, kind of explaining, "And my friend wants" he looks at Ian. 

"Just a coffee, please." He offers a weak apologetic smile to Kev. 

“Coffee for my friend. And make it quick." 

Mickey on other hand doesn't bother to spare a look on Kev whose eyes would kill if they could. 

"Jesus Mickey." Ian sighs, relaxing a bit but then he looks up at Mickey and tension takes up his body back again. And Mickey lets out an inner groan. If he's always gonna tiptoe around him Mickey got his answer, which is fuck no! he doesn't want this puppy-eyed, guilty-ass piece of shit around him. He doesn't need a constant reminder of what happened. For the first time in his life, he is fully there, where he exactly wants to be, and forward is the only direction he is going to move. 

"Did you know that you could leave it at the entrance?" 

"Leave what?" Ian ask, suspiciously 

"Stick from your ass. What the fuck with the face?" Mickey grunts. He knows that the whole situation is a shitshow, to say the least, but him staring at Mickey like a rabbit at a boa only adds fuel to the fire. 

  
"Mickey I feel embarrassed. I can barely look at you. I...fuck. was fucking moron, idiot, asshole and...and...I fucking hate myself right now. I..." He swallowed a lump, "I am sorry... for all I've done" 

"Please, don't start that shit-"

"No listen, what I did, how I behaved was fucking awful. And I don't think I will ever be able to say it enough. But I'm sorry, Mick. I'm so sorry" 

Mickey's heart clenches. His eyes burn and younger, immature Mickey inside him, sheds tears in pain. He wanted to hear that. He really wanted to hear that. Some may not understand what's the big deal with these words, but for Mickey they meant everything. They meant that what was between them was real and that he, Mickey, actually meant something to him. He wasn't just dust under his feet, as Mickey kept thinking in his cell days after the forced 'I will wait for you' incident.

"Thank you. I needed that. And as I said I forgive you." 

"I can't. Forgive myself. Don't think ever will be able." 

"Then live with it," Mickey shrugs. 

"Lip said the same." Ian gives a weak smile, and Mickey feels a pinch of guilt in his chest. 

"Well, he knows what he is saying, doesn't he" 

Ian looks hesitant for a moment before he speaks again. 

"The guy who left the cake..." Ian looks at him, "Did you...after you and I?"

"Yeah, we talked it out," Mickey says, hoping he won't try to dig deeper. Lip won't be happy if he accidentally spills all the beans to Ian. 

"What did you say?" Ian asks, looking both bashful and curious. 

"Said there was a misunderstanding." 

Ian nodded. "So he is your...?"

"Boyfriend," Mickey confirms Ian's thoughts quickly. 

"That was quick." Ian comments, with a hint of resentment, "Took you a long time to admit recognize me as one." 

And Mickey's seen enough of Ian shit, to know that he is not trying to manipulate him or other shit, but the bitterness is still hard to hold.

"At the end turned out it didn't really matter anyway," 

Ian makes another guilty face, and Mickey feels yet another pinch of guilt for not being to hold his shit. 

"It did matter. I meant a lot. I just couldn't fully appreciate it." 

They both sit in thoughtful silence for a while until Kev served their orders and left. 

"Can I sometimes come to see you? Sometimes? Maybe?" 

And Mickey knows the answer before he asks. Ian was his first boyfriend, of course. But also, he was his first friend. Ian played a massive role in who he is now and who he will become, and whether Mickey wants it or not he cares about Ginger a lot. Ian Gallagher is going to be in Mickey's life, because he was there, whole this time. Physically or not, intentional or not. Ian never stopped being part of it, no matter how hard he tried to erase his invisible presence from the map of his life to no vail. And, of course, let's not forget that his new boyfriend is his brother. 

"Yeah." He looks down at his hand, "Yeah. Sure." 

"I know you and Lip are friends and all that. Maybe one day three of us can be thatclose," 

Mickey chooses the wrong moment to take a sip from his milkshake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wassup guys! I know I'm an asshole and generally poop for not uploading. Unfortunately, i cannot promise to change that soon, getting a new job, that mercilessly consumes time. But what I can promise, that I won't leave the fic. I already came up with all the upcoming highlights, but only in my head. Thank you for your patience, comments, kudos, and for reading this fic. You guys are awasome. Anyway, enough with ass-kissing. 
> 
> All errors are mine, but if you made it till chapter 40 you mustn't give a shit. Or you are as sloppy reader, as I am a sloppy writer.  
> I have a confession to make. I didn't really watch Shameless after they've writen off Fisher. Was not boycotting or something, just slowly slipped off. That's where all the inconsistencies come from. 
> 
> Again, thank you for reading!!!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the late and short update. I literally had to write in a coupla hours. It has tons of mistakes (I hate mistakes). Read it against your risk, will ya. I will edit it somewhere in the unknown future. there are like 8 chapters left. But they are short. It shouldn't take a long time to write them.

  
"Is that all you guys do here?" Ian asks, curiously, studying every inch of MIckey's flat. That motherfucker! 

"What?... What else we suppose to do?" Mickey says gulping. He squirms on his seat trying to press the right buttons on the joystick and gaze back at where Ian is poking his nose to every inch of his house like a fucking Officer Pooch. 

He feels a light squeeze on his thigh and turns to meet Lip's face. He gives him a soothings smile, but all Mickey can think of is that Ian can turn around find his brother's hand on his thigh and figure the shit out. No! NO! 

He delicately shakes it off, Lip just rolls his eyes and goes back to his joystick. He is surprisingly calm for someone who secretly dates his brother's boyfriend. Unlike Mickey who pays zero attention to the game on the screen. What if he finds something? Mickey was storming around the apartment like a chicken with its head cut off the whole morning, making sure he got rid of all signs of the fact that Lip practically lives here. 

It was initially Lip's idea to hang out together and Mickey agreed, cause, well, it seemed like a good go for the dynamic they eventually will need to build. But cleaning his house of Lip's shit he was mortified by how obvious it was that he wasn't living there alone. 

"What's this!" Ian calls, 

Oh, no! He knew it shit will hit the fan eventually. They are so fucking doomed. 

"What's what?!" He yells in panic, jumping up on his feet like a bitten in the ass. Luckily, Lip is there to pull him back to his seat quickly enough for Ian to miss it. 

"This drawing. Is it your work?" He says sitting in front of them on the coffee table. Shoving one of Mickey's sketches. Nothing special. Just a quick brainstorm before the actually work. 

"Oh, drawing." he tries to cover relief in his voice by pretended indifference. Lip is right, he probably really is overreacting. Not that he will ever admit that to any curly bastards in the radius of the extended arm. "Who else do you think did that? Your brother?" 

He snorts and elbows Lip in the side, but quickly gets a grip on himself, moving a bit farther. Was it too touchy? Was it too gay? Was he too obvious? How the fuck straight people interact? Okay, he has to get his shit together for one more hour. Two at the top. 

"They look fantastic, Mick. You improved a lot since I have seen your last drawing." Mickey doesn't miss the way Lip takes a large sip of his soda gulping loudly, with the sour face of a person who's drinking vinegar. Mickey pretends that he doesn't see clenched fists and jaws, frowns and throat clearing sounds Lip makes whenever Ian calls him softly 'Mick'. Whatever. Lip himself prefers 'personal disaster' as a term of endearment, and even though Mickey more eager to be addressed as some fucking cataclysm, he doesn't think that nicknames are really all that matter. Feelings, that's the currency of their relationship. 

"Yeah, whatever." Mickey plays cool, but can't help a shy smile. Mickey is not exactly a person of many talents. He is not outstanding or any other adjectives are used to praise their job-seeking, university-applying asses. But he is, with no exaggeration, a good artist. And he likes it when people say it. Everybody likes compliments, okay? 

"This one looks real classy though. Not those comic stories you used to draw of me" Ian snorts. 

"Oh, right," it starts to ring Mickey's bell. "Do you still have those?" He grins remembering stupid sketches he called comics he has drawn purely to make fun of Ian's ginger ass and watch him getting all ruffled up with a poorly masked smile. 

"No-o" he cracks, "They were fucking humiliating." 

"Hey! "Marvelous adventures of Firecrotch" was a fucking masterpiece that your peasant mind wouldn't notice even it hit you right on your freckly face." Mickey scolds. 

"Which it did. You throw your notebook on my face." Ian reminds

"That's exactly my fucking point." Mickey grins, turning to Lip who by the expression on the face doesn't share his fun. What now? 

He waits until Ian leaves to work before he corners Lip in the kitchen where he is washing dishes. He is unnaturally quiet which proves that something is odd. 

"You are ok?" Mickey leaning next to him. 

"Yeah, no. I'm fine?" He waves off too easily. 

"You sure? You didn't seem fine to me."

Lip stops rubbing a mug and sighs.   
  
"It's fucking stupid."

"I'm sure it is."Mickey nods in agreement, "What is it?" 

"You... Fuck"he nervous clears his throat and scratches his jaw with the back of his thumb, and his voice gets quiet when asks. "You've often drawn Ian? Back when you were together?"

"Huh?" Mickey feels his face twisting in confusion, "Well, every now and then I guess. What's with that?" 

"I..." He gasps, looking down clearly embarrassed, "You never drew me, or asked me to pose or whatever shit people get to do so you can draw them...except for your Christmas gift. I mean, there have to be some criteria or some shit to draw people? Have to be more handsome or something?" Lip says not lifting his eyes from dishes and doesn't how Mickey looks at him in disbelief. 

What the fuck is wrong with his man, Jesus Holy Christ. Mickey literally has a room full of his face enough to arrange a whole exhibition exclusively with his portraits. On the other hand, Mickey forbid him to see any of them and apparently did a good job in hiding his embarrassing little secret. 

Mickey sighs. Now that they are dating having a secret between them cannot be healthy. He scratches the back of his head, in hesitation before saying.

"Okay." 

Lip looks up at him. 

"Okay?" He raises brows, "Okay, you gonna draw me?" 

Mickey snorts at that, "No! Follow me."   
He turns away too quickly to Lip's reaction and doesn't look back to check if he's following, because he does. Mickey can't remember having so much trust in any relationship he had. When they stand at the door he looks at expecting answers to his unspoken question Lip.  
  
"You are not allowed to break up with me." He says dead serious, "After I open this door. Leave me and I'll break your leg." 

Lip's eyes get wider, "Holy Fuck. You're really holding someone there?" 

"The fuck, man?" Mickey exclaims scandalized, "Yeah, Philip. I hold there a person against their will. That's what I want to show you. Isn't that the answer to all the crisis in the world? Kidnapping?" 

"Okay, keep your shirt on. As long as you don't keep there Marcus as your sexual slave, I'm cucumber cool." 

Mickey rolls his eyes. He holds his breath and lets a hesitation take him over for a second, but then he feels Lip's hand on his own, and see a reassuring smile when he looks over at Gallagher's face. 

He can do it. 

There is nothing to be ashamed of. 

He is not a SouthSide trash anymore

He won't be dumped for caring about this person, for loving him.

He is not that Mickey anymore, and this is not Ian. 

  
He unlocks the door and gestures him to go in.

Lip goes into the poorly illuminated room. It has a strong smell of paint, chemicals, and humidity. It's not completely dark but Lip needs a second or two to distinguish shapes of an easel, paintings on the wall, and something that looks like a heap covered with an old cloth on the floor. Then Mickey turns on the light and Lip just gasps. The room is full of Mickey's paintings, drawings, and sketches as expected. But what he doesn't expect that every single one of them has him, Lip, on it. And when he says every single one, he means every and each one. They are all different. There are drawn with paint, pencils, and charcoal. In some of them, he is sleeping, in another, he is smiling, or screaming, or even crying. There are pictures of him very young, probably from middle school. And it's so accurate, that even Lip's not sure that he could recreate his own childhood image in his mind as Mickey apparently can. There are doodles of him, and a modernistic version of him. He is everywhere. He is big, he is small, he is colorful, he is black and white, he is funny, he is sexy. There are piles and piles with paintings again with his faces on the floor. And on each and every one of them, he is so fucking beautiful. Is that how he sees him? The whole room easily could be his personal shrine dedicated to him. 

He looks at Mickey, who nervously studies Lip's reaction stepping from one foot to another. Lip feels overwhelmed. He feels like he is drowning in emotions. No one ever, ever did anything close to this for him. This man is going to finish him, destroy his core, and Lip with a great relish will allow him to do that. Lip in two steps catches him by his neck and pulls not expecting anything odd Mickey to the deep, impatient, and almost painful kiss. Mickey caught off guard responds with a delay, kissing him back with the same vigor. Mickey stumbles on soothing and falls on the carpet pulling Lip on top of him, with the painful hiss they continue dragging down clothes from each other, with lips refusing to tear away from one another for a second. They quickly get lost in all-consuming passion.

Five minutes later...

Lip came out frantically, fixing his shirt on his way towards the kitchen with a miserable expression on his face. Mickey who follows him, fixing his clothes with the biggest smug he could pull off. Lip comes out with a glass of water and in his hand. 

"Shut up." He warns after emptying half of it in one big gulp, "Not. A. Word."

"No, no. I am not saying anything." He raises both palms in a peaceful gesture and bites his grin. 

The smugness on his face doesn't go anywhere the whole. 

"You know it's all your fault!" Lip burst out. 

Mickey chortles, "Of course." He rolls his eyes, "How is it my fault? Did I put a spell on your dick?"

"That's all your fucking paintings. It was hard to focus when my own face was staring from each corner of your damn room. Besides it's weird to do it with the younger self staring from across the room...." he mumbles and looks up at Mickey who's is totally ignoring him, too preoccupied manically typing something on his phone, "Are you listening to me? " 

"What? Yes! What?" He yelps, suspiciously quickly hiding his phone behind him, "You are overreacting." he quickly changes the topic, "It happens with everyone at least once at your age."

"We are the same age" he points out dryly 

"Hey! I am five months younger than you." He exclaims sooooo offended

Lip stares at him for a while with narrowed eyes. But then he snaps. 

"That's it. Come over here!" He makes a big step towards him and stops when Mickey makes an identical step backward, away from Lip. 

"Why?" He says, a sly grin raising on his face and eyes shining with mischievous glitter.

"So I can prove to you that you are wrong and my dick is fine." He explains making two-step forward, encouraging Mickey to do the same and go around the couch. 

"I don't know. Don't you think I had enough of disappointments for a day," he says now obviously running away from him. 

"Mickey, stay where you fucking are" he warns, grinning against his will. 

"Nah, I'm good," he says jumping over the coach as Lip does the same and for the next ten minutes, the storm around the living room like a couple of kids left with no adult supervision. Lip is dexterous, but Mickey is still faster and every time Lip is confident he got him, Mickey like water would just slip out of his hand. 

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll have to sleep standing up" Lips yells from across the kitchen table, not tearing his eyes from Mickey and laughing, laughing so hard, he can't remember the last time he did that. 

"Promises. Promises. How you gonna do that if you can't even get me, genius?" Mickey is panting real hard. He needs to start to exercise or shit. 

  
They hit into another round in the house until Lip doesn't corner him in the bedroom and presses his chest against the floor next to the bed, leaning heavily over him. 

"Gotcha" he grins, breathing against his ear. He trippingly spins him over on his back. They are both panting heavily and grinning just gazing at each other, and not really doing anything. Mickey expects Lip to do something, but the other guy seems to get lost in time, eyes trailing over his face from eyes to lips. 

"What's with the face?" 

Lips eye shoot back to meet Mickey's eyes, and he doesn't respond right away, but eventually says. 

"I am happy. You make me happy." He whispers his concession. 

And Mickey wants to laugh at him, or tease him or mock him. But he also doesn't want to do any of it, because he has exactly the same feelings. He feels so full, like never knew he could feel. He looks right into those eyes letting words come out themselves. 

"You make me happy too," He let his thumb stroke his cheek softly, "so fucking happy." Lip's smile widens, as he lightly brushes his nose against Mickey's and brings their lips together to the sweetest kiss possible. 

"I was promised to be satisfied," he reminds him, hands stroking strong muscles on his arms. 

"I recall I said that you won't be able to lie down," 

"I rephrased." There is a line of notification sounds come to Mickey's phone, making Lip raise his brow.'

"Have you told Mandy about my dick failure?" He asks cooly for the person in his position. 

"And Svetlana," 

And seeing that Lip is about to call him out on it, he presses his index finger tightly against his lips to shut him. 

"Sh-sh," he says, "Don't ruin the moment. You still have something to prove." 

And he did prove...

Three times...

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter suppose to be somehere around the end, but I thought why not let enjoy boyfriend status a bit more, before shit hits the fan.


	42. Chapter 42

Does Lip love him? 

Mickey remebers all the shit they went through to be where they are now, he knows that Lip really cares about him, and till now he kinda thought that he maybe might love him or whatever gay shit goes complementary in that kit. And the night X, when they came to terms about the feelings that go beyond their friendship borderline, he was like 100 % confident that he will hear three words long-hoped-for. Well, right before Lip decided to shower him in his gastric juice. Brrrr! If he didn't love him he would make sure that the next months of his life that asshole resides in a hospital. 

See, that's the problem. Mickey loves him. He loves that motherfucker with all he has, and not that Lip gave him food for doubts, but he didn't say he loves him either, did he? Growing up with a homophobic mentality engraved his subconsciousness, part of Mickey is still feels pretty insecure about being happy in a gay relationship. 

  
It probably doesn't matter anyway. They are together but fuck, it would be nice to know what's going on in that beautiful head once in a while. Mickey could confess first, but if Lip didn't say it back, Mickey would feel so embarrassed, that he would have to emigrate, which is not healthy when you are in a relationship. 

Look at him. Walking to the legal job, from College, rationally thinking about building a healthy relationship with his boyfriend. If he didn't carry a bag of weed in his backpack Mickey could be a role model for an upcoming generation of losers. 

Mickey almost reaches the backdoors of the restaurant, when he hears screams. It takes him a turn around the corner to actually see two men holding each other in a tight grip and pushing/pulling one another, while people around are trying to take them apart. Mickey spends three whole seconds to recognize Ian's orange head and Alex's white chef coat. He drops his backpack right to the wet pavement and throws himself right into the middle of the heat.

It takes whole his strength to make space and cling himself between these two sons of bitches. Luckily, Kev is on time to hold Alex while he pushes Ian in the opposite direction. 

"You are dead, asshole. I will fucking kill you" He hears Ian's threatens above him, as he keeps holding him from jumping on the guy twice his of size. 

"I want to see you try, chicken." Alex roars with a bear bass and Mickey feels grateful that he has to deal with this rowdy, not with him. 

"Oh, I will tear your fat-ass in half even if it's the last thing I'll do in this life" he snaps back and Mickey rolls his eyes. 

"That's it!!!" Mickey gives Ian one harsh pull attracting his attention. "What's the matter with you?" 

He holds his palm against Ian's chest firmly to prevent him from going any more further. And glares back at Alex who goes silent too, panting heavily with nasal flaring with anger. Kev on his side, all read still holds him in a tight grip, but by the look on his face, it was as clear as a day that he's at the end of his tether. He looks back at Ian. 

There is an odd flinch of sadness in his eyes, Mandy had the same expression when aunt Ruth died. 

"This chicken nugget come from nowhere and punched my face." He hears Alex behind him. 

"I got it." He makes a half-turn, not tearing his eyes from Ian, "So?" 

"Mick." He says softly as if Mickey was made of snow and can melt any moment, "I saw him kissing Svetlana." 

And Mickey expects a continuation or something, but nothing follows.

"And?" 

"And?" Ian twists his face in anger, "I saw him making out with Svetlana in the bathroom." 

Mickey raises his eyebrow and turns his head back at the flushed Russian guy. Someone knows how to blush? What a surprise. 

"Seriously? In the bathroom? Heard anything about sanitation?" he hopes his eyebrows make a point his words can't make. 

"You are not the one to talk," Alex grumbles, and Mickey quickly looks away, clearing throat. Touché. 

"Anyway. What does it have to you with you, man?" He looks back at Ian who's face expressed all depths of concussion.

"Mickey, I saw your boyfriend making out with another woman."   
He says slowly, like to a five-year-old. 

And oh 

Ian thinks that tovarish is his boyfriend. 

"Ugh..." Mickey clears his throat.

"I am not his boyfriend. His boyfriend-"

"Hey! Shut your zipper before I made you." He looks back at Alex. And maybe Alex is not a very bright person, but he can read between the lines. 

"He is not my- Why would you even think that he is my boyfriend?" His voice gets pitchy. 

"I... I don't know. He was always there and ... and the cake... and the fight." Looks like Ian's processing mechanism was failing him real bad. 

This situation is so fucked up already. Well, there's no one he can really blame but himself. Ian thought it was Alex, Mickey didn't try to convince him otherwise, Ian didn't want to dig into Mickey's personal life and Mickey was just so relieved by the fact to care. First things first, he still needs to smooth things out here. 

"Okay. Since we made it fucking clear that Alex is not my boyfriend, apologize. Now." He orders with the best parent tone he can express. 

Ian looks at him astonished. And look like he would protest if he wasn't lost in words. 

"Yes, young man. You punched him and called him fat. Not cool." Mickey crosses arms on his chest and furrows. Ian sighs, but mumbles.

"Sorry," he mumbles half-sincerely

Alex relaxes in Kev's grip, and the other guy takes it as a sign to release him. They both give each other half nods and disappear behind the backdoor. 

"Svetlana probably gonna skin you alive anyway." Mickey's taps Ian's shoulder pushing him inside the restaurant. He picks up his wet bag from the dirty ground, and with a disgusted face goes after them. Luckily there are not many people to witnesses the shit they threw in the light of the day. 

"If he is not your boyfriend, who is?" It doesn't take long for Ian to ask the questions Mickey's feared the most. They've already reached the staff room, which is luckily empty. 

It was easier to play a delusion when you are not confronted so directly. What can he say that won't bite him in the ass in the future? There is a painful pause where Mickey can't squeeze a word out of himself, under Ian's tensed scrutiny.

"What? Now I have to earn a right to know who you are dating? Is that what it is?"

"Ugh," Mickey gasps, opening his locker and throwing his bag inside. "Of course fucking not" 

"Then what is it?" Ian gets worked up again, "you think I don't see how forced you go for the rapprochement." 

"Ian, that's not what it is..." 

"Please," he huffs, averting his eyes "You are bearing me because of Lip. It's so fucking obvious." He yells. 

It's not true. Not totally. Mickey really wanted Ian in his life, but with all of this 'acting as I don't date your brother' shit he was trying to maintain, he really might have looked forced. Because he was, but for a different reason. 

"That's..." He makes a step forward, but doesn't know what to say, "You are wrong."

Ian steps closer into his personal space, looking at intensively as if trying to bring him down with this invasive aura.

"Am I? Mhm?" He whispers angrily, stressing each sound. "Am I?"

Mickey feels dejavu. It throws him back in time when Ian uncompromisingly would raise the army of demons in Mickey without any effort. They would fight, then fuck, and would be delusional enough to call it love. That's what Ian's doing. Intentionally or not, his monster calling for Mickey's monster. But his monster is long gone. Right now looking at him, he feels nothing. Dump silent inside. 

"Ian, I think you need to calm down." He says slowly. 

Ian freezes staring at him. Then blinks once, twice. The expression on his face is bordering with shock. As with a wave of the wand he loses all his attitude. His surprise changes into something distantly looks like a betrayal. 

"I...I..." he steps back, "I crossed the line. I'm sorry" he finally says.

"Ian, it's-" he starts, 

"I gotta go." He cuts him madly rushing away.

Lip is not at work to see the whole show, and Mickey tells him only the part with the fight between Ian and Alex. Mostly because he doesn't know what happens afterward. Part of Mickey has been so adamantly reluctant about meeting Ian again because he didn't want to get himself back into this twisted hurricane their relationship always been. He didn't want to feel manipulated and provoked, he didn't want to manipulate and provoke. He wanted to leave that part in the past. Turned out there was nothing to be left. He won't see him for the next ten days. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey is tired. Mickey is hungry, Mickey is stressed out and it doesn't help his cranky persona to bloom. To say that today was tough would be one big understatement. He had his last exam this semester, this year, and hopefully this lifetime because he'd rather go through seven rings of hell than go through this shit one more time. Enough is enough. He is the first Milkovich who may hold a college diploma, so it says something. 

It says MILKOVICHES HATE TO STUDY!

The last exam was a nightmare. In fact, he gave up on it. Kick it down the road and pretend it doesn't exist. Decided he is not gonna graduate. Another Milkovich, big deal. But Lip aka asshole and also aka the best boyfriend in the world (his words not Mickey's) stayed with him all night, ran him through the material, and made sure Mickey entered the auditorium and didn't scoot halfway.

Lip is sitting on the couch, going through some papers. Nerd. Mickey is all cranky and overly dramatic when he enters his office. He is too exhausted and emotionally depleted to play anything cool. Jesus, he has no power even to keep his reputation upright. 

"Cuddle me. Now." He demands.

Lip's consciousness emerges from his mind-castle and gives Mickey a surprised gaze. Then he just leans back on the couch and spreads his arms, making space on his laps.

Mickey is hesitant for a moment. There still were lines that he finds hard to cross, there are still walls he hasn't pulled down. It's far from easy for him to hold Lip's hand in public or kiss him, or do those annoying PDAs that couples do. The fact is that he wants to do those annoying PDAs. He doesn't want to give a flying fuck when he is with his man, but bad habits hard to break. They are not in public right now but there is still a part of him very cautious about casually sitting on his boyfriend's lap in the middle of the day. But Lip, God bless this asshole, never pushes him. He gets him as no-one does. And if he is offering it means he knows Mickey can do it, and Mickey does. He throws his backpack to the furthest corner and climbs onto his laps, burying his face into his boyfriend's neck. Lip relaxes and lets his arms fall on his back, pulling him closer to his body, letting his hands stroke his back. Another day, another milestone in the relationship. 

"Mhm," he breathes in Mickey's scent. "How was it?" He gets right to the point.

"Awful. Worst experience in my life. I want to fucking die. Let's go home." 

"That bad?"

"Nah. Answered all questions. Was easier than I expected."

"Does is it mean my flashcards worked？?" He asks slyly.

"Fuck!" he gasps, "I forgot that you're a fucking nerd for whole ten seconds."

Lip chuckles at his boyfriend's love for drama.

"Yes, they worked. As your stupid stickers, highlighting markers, chewing gum, and glitter pens that smell like chewing gum?" 

"The last one wasn't necessary. It was your call," 

"Philip it's a pen that smells like strawberry gum and looks like if unicorn shitted words on my notes. It confused my world to the core." He mumbles

"That's your last exam. Should we celebrate it?" 

"Let's wait till I defend the desertion. And then we could, you know..." A sudden attack of shyness makes him squirm on his laps.

"We could what?" He feels Lip's hands on his bottom, preventing him from slipping down. 

"We could use my Christmas present you gave." he is just happy that Lip doesn't see his flushed face. 

There is a pause, and now Mickey feels sorry that he can't see his face. 

"You want to fly to Italy? With me?" Lip's voice comes unsure, and Mickey wants to huff loudly at his face, but he doesn't move. 

"Yeah, but just because Mrs. P can't make it." Lip pinches his side making him laugh and squirm to escape the ticklish sensation.   
  
"Okay," his voice is suddenly so calm, as he buries his face into Mickey's hair, "Let's go to the fucking Italy together." 

There is silence and Mickey considers for a moment and decides to take a chance and ask. 

"You know, if there was something you would like to tell me I wouldn't stop you?" Nonchalance doesn't sound natural even for his own ears, but not the point. 

"Huh?"

"You know? Those words?" Mickey stresses 'those', hoping he will get ASAfuckingP. 

"Words?" the confusion is more obvious in his voice now. 

"Yes, Philip. Words!" He gets irritated by how both smart and dumb at the same time his boyfriend can be, "You know, the words they say at the end of cheesy rom-coms or whatever" 

......

"OH, those words." He can feel Lip trying to look at his face, but Mickey doesn't let him, "You want...to hear them?"

"I don't care." Mickey presses his face deeper into his neck. What a humiliation, "You can say...If you feel that way." 

......

"Okay," 

The dickhead is smiling. Mickey waits and waits and waits. But doesn't hear a sound, not to mention the words he was promised. 

He straightens up on his lap and looks at him impatiently. 

"SO?" 

"What? Now? I can't say it now. It can't be said by the request." 

Mickey looks up at him with a face that he hopes is screaming 'Your existence is a slap on the face to the whole humanity'. It's bad enough that Mickey almost begged for the confession, and now this cocksucker has nerves to refuse to say it. It takes him all his willpower not to smack him in the ear. Lip must see the fire in his eyes, because the next thing he does is he pulls him by the neck and captures his lips with his own, sucking all his fury away. Fuck, it feels amazing. 

"I will say it. Deny all you want, but it's important to you. I want it to be right." he murmurs into his mouth. 

"Do I look like a 13-year-old girl to you?" He mutters, and then sighs, "Let's go home" he feels getting pulled closer to Lip. The combination of his body heat, hot breath, and hands stroking him so gently is tranquilizing. Makes Mickey feel dozy. 

He thumbs his skin and hair behind the ear, and Mickey has a weird desire to purr. The fuck is going on to him lately? First, he voluntarily climbed on his lap, now acts like some bitch on the heat. 'You're making me lose my mind, Philip Gallagher' he thinks, 'You're so easily making me drop guards, which was equal to death back in the days. Now I'm hopping on your lap, like your personal bitch.'

'Happy personal bitch' mind so eagerly provides. 'Yeah. Happy personal bitch.' Mickey thinks. 

Lip takes another sniff. 

"You smell so good." And sighs too, "I still do have a couple of things need to finish today. You can lie down on the couch. I'll wake you up." Then continues seductively, "We can go home, we can take a bath, before going to bed. I can help you to rub your back."

"Bath? So gay" Mickey mumbles.

"Really?" Lips snorts 

"No," mickey wants to yawn, "as long as I'm calling it 'so gay' we still can do it" Mickey's lips stretch in a grin. 

"Calling it gay makes it less gay?" Lip is smiling. Mickey knows. 

"Like a magic spell." 

"Mickey,"

"Mhm?" 

"Eating vegetables is so gay." Mickey bites the soft skin on his neck. 

Mickey lies down and had been drifting on and off a few times by the time hands stat to brush his hair lightly. 

"Is this how you now wake me up?" he mumbles half-asleep. 

The hand freezes on his hair first but then trails down his face, brushing with the flip side gently. 

"I forgot how beautiful you are." 

It forces Mickey's eyes to get fly opened and throw hmself to the other side of the couch in a mile-second. Voice didn't belong to Lip. The hand didn't belong to Lip. It wasn't Lip.

"Ian? The fuck you are doing here?" He yells, more out of shock rather than anger. Ian bewildered either by his own action seconds ago, or by Mickey's reaction to it, just stands there catching the air with dish-sized eyes. 

"I...sorry." he pulls his palms, "I came here to see you. And found you here...and you were sleeping and I just ..." He makes a vague gesture with his hand pointing to the couch. 

Mickey stops panting and his ability to think kinda something like straight wakes up. With a delay, but wakes up. He runs in his head what has just happened. And he wants to ask what the fuck was he thinking stroking a sleeping person. But also he doesn't want to ask. He doesn't want to know anything. Mickey wants to put this shit to the back-burner. Yeah that exactly what he wants to do. He will cross the bridge when he gets there. 

"You said you were looking for me?" 

And it's hard not to see how Ian exhale in relief as deliberately Mickey ignores the elephant in the room. 

"I have to apologize...again. Not for..." He clears his throat, "For the other day. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, man" Mickey rubs the back of his neck, "It's nothing." 

His phone rings in his pocket and he reaches for it to end the call, but freezes when he sees the name of the caller. 

"No, it's not nothing. I promised to stop doing it with you, but I upset you each fucking time and...Mickey?" Ian asks worriedly when he sees Mickey staring at his phone with a blank expression. 

"Mhm? Yeah. No. Its..." He looks at Ian, "I need to pick up" he takes a deep breath and presses the receive button.

He gulps before saying: "Yes, uncle Ronnie." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. I am back. Another chapter and some may think that we are moving at a snail pace. Yeah. We are. There is honestly nothing to add to this chapter. I just wanted to stop by and say hi. 
> 
> HIIIIIIIII!
> 
> Thank you for reading. Thakn you for liking. Apreciate your kudos. Love your comments. 
> 
> Hope you'll like it. 
> 
> See ya


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's been awhile. Hope you were too preoccupied with the upcoming Shamless s11 to notice, haha.

Mickey wasn't listening to a word she was saying. The whole atmosphere in the room was soaked with a dark grim tension. It wasn't obvious for a naked eye, but Brenda could swear he was angry. It reminded her of the first days of their therapy when anger was his permanent companion. They passed that stage long ago. There has to be a trigger for his current condition. Something bad happened, she could put everything on it. But Mickey is not amenable on his best days, but ever since they went through an uneasy conversation the other day, Mickey's grown a thin ice-shell. It wasn't very obvious at first, but after a while, it was clear how less and less cooperative he was becoming with each session. She really didn't want to push him, but she didn't see any other choice. Things weren't about to change otherwise. 

"Mickey, what's wrong？,” She asks, worriedly.

"Nothing," he doesn't even try to sound convincing. 

"Mickey, I want to help you. But for that, I need you to talk to me. There's something clearly bugging you." She says slowly. "Is it about Lip?" 

He shakes his head.

"Ian?" 

Another shake. 

"Is it because I said to you the other time?" She holds the urge to clear her throat and avert her gaze, hoping it sounded casual. 

"What? No." He sighs and rubs his face in irritation. Better than nothing. "I am in a fight with .... Everyone. Well, almost everyone." 

"How? What happened," she shifts forward and does her best not to pressure him. She clenches into this small and fragile string of connection that Mickey with unlikely to him generosity provided. 

He is quiet for a while, staring into space with a frozen frown that seems permanently glued to his face. She starts to think that the thin connection is ruined when he says. 

"It happened three days ago." and continues. 

"Uncle Ronnie, my dad's younger brother, called. Said we need to talk. Said it's not a phone thing." 

By how he leans back, Brenda reads that it's not gonna be a short story, but she doesn't move. 

"The thing is I didn't see uncle Ronnie for ages, and wouldn't mind living without hearing from him, to be honest. I didn't have a fucking reason to see him, and I couldn't think of anything he could possibly want from me. At least, so I thought. It's not like we spend Thanks Fucking Giving together even before. Not that kind of family, ya know. There was only one shit that'd force our roads to cross. Usually illegal shit. And when I say illegal, I mean more illegal than pushing an overpriced weed to rich college kids. I didn't want to deal with whatever shit he came up with. But Milkovich doesn't turn down family. Never. If you are Milkovich, you are Milkovich for life until you kick the bucket, which is also the only way out. 

Ian said we need to call cops." Brenda involuntarily raises her eyebrows. "He happened to be there when Ronnie called." Mickey rubs his face again sighing tiredly." Heard that I was going to meet him. Wanted to come with me." Mickey lets out a dry laugh, "I told him everything was fine and asked him not to tell anyone. By anyone I meant Lip. He already had helluva things to deal with, didn't want to put my shit on top of that." Brenda thinks that it's a bad decision, but, of course, she keeps her opinion to herself. 

"We met at my old home. He was there waiting for me. Pig drunk. As always. And then." 

Mickey abruptly straightens up and in two big steps in front of the window. He folds his hands in front of him to reduce the shiver. He is very sensitive right now, very responsive to any mild triggers. 

"Then he said something that...my father didn't die that day."

Brenda feels her head is pulling forward and eyes widening in shock, while Mickey continues. 

"Would be right to say he died not that day. It happened six months later in the hospital ward." He looks at her with an unreadable expression clarifies, "Leukemia. The last stage. They found out in the prison six months before his actual death. When I was a kid dad used to love to compare Milkoviches to a pack of wolves. Pack of jackals is more accurate if you ask me, but whatever. I wonder what wolves do with a sick member of the pack." He mumbles more to himself, staring through the window, "But I certainly know what all those bunches of dickheads he called 'friends' or 'business partners' would do to him if they'd known he is five minutes away from having an eternal nap in a coffin. He was far from being a saint and the line of people who would love to have his ass must take up to Kansas." He looks down frowning, "FBI's offer didn't take long to come. I don't know the details, but probably a classical scheme. Names, places, dates...." 

Brenda was sitting quietly, scared to make a noise. 

"'Don't snitch' my ass." He huffs out under his nose, "He sold almost everyone who's ever worked with him for the protection and opportunity to die like a human being he's never been." He rubs his index against his thumb, very familiar to Brenda with the gesture. 

"You can smoke if you want." To which Mickey throws a suspicious gaze, "Just this time. Only one," she nods. 

He lights up a cigarette. She waits for his second drag to ask. 

"You said you got a fight with everybody. Why?"   
  
Mickey's shoulders fall a bit as if he didn't want to go into it. 

"After his death, he left something. For me. A letter. But uncle Ronnie was drinking his fucking ass off to execute his brother's deathbed fucking will. Said he found the letter under the carpet or something." 

"What was in the letter," Brenda asks before she can stop herself.

"I don't know." He says quietly, "Never opened." 

"Mickey, I think..."

"NO!" He suddenly cuts her off too sharply, "I know what you are going to say. What you all are going to say. It's his last words. There might be something important. But you know what? Fuck you! Fuck you all, and your stupid opinion." 

"Who are 'we'?" she doesn't let his outburst affect her, not her first time "You got a fight with everyone because they all said you need to read the letters." She finally gets. He doesn't respond just turns away, which proves her guess. She deeply breathes in and out, because what she says next may cause a massive respond

"Mickey, I think you need to know what your father has to say."   
She says calmly, even though her heart is raising like crazy. 

"No, No!" He shakes his head. 

"Micke you did a massive amount of work during all those sessions we had. Four years ago you wouldn't dream about being where you are now, being the person you are now. And I'm so proud of you," Mickey pulls a face. He feels manipulated."And this. THIS. Is the last step. You passed it all: Ian, your mom, your fears and hopes. Just one thing." She nearly begs, which is so far from professional ethics but screw it. Mickey is more than patient. He is her friend. 

He looks at her expectantly, but then says

"Well, then I'll just carry on without making this step."

"Mickey, what are you scared of?" 

"I am not scared of anything. I don't fucking want to read fucker's letter. He never had anything good to say while he was breathing what do you think he has to say to his faggot son while feeding the earthworms? The asshole just wants to have the last word, but screw his fat ass." 

She wants to argue that, but she doesn't feel like she is in a position to tell him that.

"Mickey you are not Southside trash anymore-"

"Then stop treating me like one!" 

She wants to argue that, but she doesn't know what he means. Brenda never treated him like that. Did she? She chooses another strategy instead. 

"What does Lip say?" 

Mickey's body goes still as he quickly looks away. Brenda narrows her eyes. 

"You didn't tell him." She guesses again, and again she is right. "You tell him everything, but didn't tell him about the letter. Why?" He scowls. He doesn't like it, but it doesn't stop her. "Oh, because you know he will say the same. He will say that you have to read those letters. Mickey, you already know it." She raises her voice, cornering him like a little beast. But the beast decides to show claws. 

"Oh, really? We should heal our wounds. Forgive our fathers." Her sixth sense was saying to back off, but she kept pushing 

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"You feel it?" He dramatically smells the air. "Oh, I know. That how hypocrisy smells like" 

"I don't know what you are talking about." her voice breaks in front of the patient for the first time in her career. 

"Really? Cause that's what you did? You forgave your father?"

"My and my father's issue has nothing to do with you..." 

"Yeah, that's why you are pushing me to face my father when you never had a gut to say a fucking word to your father when he lives like right across the corner. Not the other fucking side." She looks away to hold a tear that is about to fall, "What little Brenda is still too scared to disappoint her father?"

She looks up at him in disbelieve, taking in air sharply. Mickey runs in his head and his eyes widen in terror.

"I... I didn't mean..." He stutters, and the next second he is gone by the wind before she can stop him. Oh, this is baaaaaad. 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
He finds Lip on the couch lying after a hard day. Mickey stands in front of him, looking down. Lip raises his eyebrows in a silent question, not sure how to read his expression. 

"Cuddle me. Now." Unlike three days ago it sounds a lot less demanding, losing it's all playfulness, sounding more like a plead. Pathetic-if you ask Mickey. Lip's eyes widen, as his arms immediately spread apart without hesitation and readily excepts Mickey's body into the embrace warm embrace. He feels how his body was actually tensed when it starts to relax in the loving arms. Lip runs his nose across his hairline, down to his face, taking in his favorite scent. 

"What's going on, Mickey?" he whispers. 

"I think I need a new therapist." the simple line is said with a painful tinge. 

"What happened?" 

Mickey can't hide anymore and he tells. Everything.

"Wow." Lip says, "It's a letter from the other side." And Mickey pinches his side, even though he feels the corner of his mouth slightly going up. 

"Did you read it?" 

"No. I don't want to" the confession comes very hard. It feels like if Lip tells him the same thing the other said, it might break his hard for real. 

"Okay," he says simply, letting his lips brush against his temple.

"Okay?" He looks up at him, "That's it?" 

"Yeah?" Lip isn't sure what's a big deal. 

"I'm in a fight with a good half of the city because I'm not jumping to read that fucking letter, to fix my daddy issues. And all you can say is okay?" 

"You are a big boy, Mickey. You don't need my approval, nor my disapproval." He smiles at him, "I believe in you." 

And Mickey feels his whole buddy goes so light, the gravity can suck his dick. Lip has no idea how much he needed to hear it. Needed to hear that he, Mickey, is the one who chooses. That's his fucking life, and he is in charge of it. He is not who he used to be. He moved on, but his surrounding apparently didn't. He lets out a shaky breath and digs his face into Lip's chest. He loves this man so much right now, he's ready to explode. It all feels so overwhelming. This man believes in him. This man trusts him. This man maybe loves him. 

"Even if it's a mistake?" He mumbles, "Me not reading this fucking letter." 

Lip's voice is honey-soft when he speaks, "I want you to be happy. I don't think you will be happy if you are not allowed to make mistakes." 

Fuck. Mickey's heart would break out of his chest if it wasn't already in Lip's clenched hands. He never felt 'life depending on it' desire to say 'I love you' as much as he was feeling it a very precise moment. Right now. But Lip didn't tell the words yet, and Mickey agreed to wait. 

"Fuck," he groans, anyway. "When are you going to say that you love me" 

Mickey lost his pride long ago, so fuck off. There is a rapid and meaningful silence in the air, that makes him look up at Lip again to study his face. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He groans again, "You were gonna say it right now, weren't you?"

"No-o?" Lip is an awful liar. The worst one. 

"Fuck. You know what? NO! Let's pretend I didn't say anything. Just remote everything back. What we said before that? Something about me making mistakes." He starts to chatter, making Lip laugh loudly and by inertia shaking Mickey on his chest. "Shut the fuck up, man." 

"Mickey, come on. I can't say it now. Can I?" 

"Why fucking not?" He lets his head fall back on the chest.

He sighs deeply. Lip said that he believes in him. He doesn't recall anyone saying that, even as a joke. Lip believes in him, and no matter how cheesy it feels Mickey can't bring himself to let him down. Now that he doesn't feel a heavy burden of obligation to read he feel like he can think more objectively, weighing all pros and cons.

"Shit. I have to read the fucking letter, right?" 

"Yea-ah" Lip stretches words, agreeing reluctantly."It doesn't have to be in the near future though, ya know. When you are ready." He then leaves a peck on his temple. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

It happens a week late. Lip doesn't know what caused Mickey to do, but the fact is that he opened that damn envelope, and then disappeared...

  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit personal to me. Have any of you had a period when people around would force you to live the 'right' life, when in fact you know that they want you to live a safe life? No? Just me? Anyways. 
> 
> All the mistakes are mine blah-blah-blah. You know it already.  
> Hope you'll like it. Thank you for reading and for just being such sweet muffins.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: highly inappropriate behavior.

It was Ian who told that Mickey's is missed. He burst into Lip's office panting hardly.

"I think Mickey's in trouble." He said between heavy inhales and exhales. Lip didn't remember himself when he grabbed Ian by the collar and pressing his brother painfully against the nearest wall. 

"What the fuck did you tell him?!

Ian lets out a groan, lifting a perplexed look at him.

"Wha--?" 

"What the fuck did you tell him again? I swear to God, Ian if it's your another fucking tantrum I will fucking..." 

"Calm fucking down. It wasn't me. I came to his house to apologize, but he passed e by barely even looking at me. And" he gasps he lifts his right hand clenching a white paper. "I found this on the floor." Lip recognizes a familiar envelope, that was opened. Oh, no. 

Lip lets him go immediately. What happened? What was in that fucking letter? He needs to think straight right now.

"Call Iggy. I'll call his therapist." He says on his way to the kitchen. He needs a car. Where the fuck you are Mickey? 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

It's freakishly cold out here and he stormed out of his house with a light coat on his shoulders. Luckily, Mickey has the right thing to keep him warm. Vodka. This place is expectantly empty with the only couple of distancing dark figures faraway. He walks around for a good half an hour before he finds the right stone. 

"Well, hello daddy." He takes a sip from an opened bottle, "Long time no see“

The spring didn't fully present itself on the streets of Chicago, which still were gruesomely naked and dull. But here it had more colors, more life, which is ironic considering that Mickey is standing surrounded by headstones on the graveyard.

**_Terrance Andriy Milkovich_ **  
**_(1965-2017)_ **  
**_will always be remembered by his family and friends_ **

Mickey feels a twitch in his hand, and if it wasn't his only bottle he would throw this shit on this fucking stone. 'Will always be remembered'. Well, it's definitely hard to forget this piece of shit. 

"So?"

There is an old recognizable agitation he used to feel whenever he talked to his father. It's so fucked up if this cold piece of stone is capable of making him feel a sacred little boy again. 

"You decided to write a letter, I see," he says taking out a wrinkled piece of paper. "Never seen you writing a full sentence till the end, but filled a whole paper." He can't help the bashfulness. "The fuck has happened to you, old man?" 

A sip of Vodka.

"I didn't want to read your letter. Was this close to burning it." He makes a small space between the index finger and thumb. "But Lip said..." Then he shuts up momentarily, feeling a small terror as if his dad could raise from his grave to hunt down the love of his life. Pathetic. "Ugh. You know, when I was opening that fucking envelope I was ready for every-fucking-thing. I was ready for all the blast and curses on me and probably on three generations of my grandchildren. I was ready to hear that I am a disappointment, the I-I am a shame, not a son, that I am a piece of cunt and what the fuck ever. But fuck! You son of a bitch, have to try to ruin my life for the one last time? As a fucking good-bye gift?" He doesn't recognize his voice as it goes an octave higher with each word until he feels he is out of breath. He breathes heavily as he continues, slowly picking up the pace "Is this your best shot? Huh? Is that all you got? Fuck you, old man!" He takes a painfully large gulp of Vodka. He finished one-third of it. Then he suddenly breaks into a fit of laughter, "Seriously, though. Apology?" His voice gets pitchy, "You decided to apologize? The fuck were you thinking." He shakes a piece of paper in his hand, "You didn't really think that I would buy it, did you? You know what I think about it?" He clenches the letter between his lips, unzips his pants, takes out his dick, and lets the physiology do its job. "That's what I think about your apology." He says relieving himself on his father's grave. 

Somewhere in the middle, his drunk mind catches someone's presence. It takes him a half turn to the side to confirm his feeling. There is an old man staring at him wide-eyed and raised-brows. The flow stops abruptly. Fuck! He's gonna call fucking cops if he doesn't say something. 

"Uhm," Mickey tries. How the fuck can he explain taking a piss on someone's grave? 

"Oh, don't worry," an old man speaks first, "I work here for over 20 years. It happens surprisingly often. Third time on this particular grave. He must have been shit of a person" He smiles. Only then Mickey notices the shovel and bucket in his hands. 

Mickey nods. The letters pinched between his lips wouldn't let him speak anyway. Man with a smile just nods him a good-bye and walks away, swinging his bucket back and forth. That small gesture of kindness makes Mickey wonder, what his life would be like if this man raised him, not the owner of the skeleton beneath his feet. 

Mickey sighs tiredly, looking around. No one's around. He walks towards the stone and with a grace of a bag with potatoes leans against it. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. 

"What games are you playing, old man?" He asks absently. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Old Milkovich house never has been a cozy place, but nevertheless, it has never been unoccupied. Seven years old Mickey wasn't sure why. Sometimes he liked it, but mostly not. He was sitting trying to burn the edge of the carpet with a lighter, cause, well there were not many things to do. TV was occupied by his brothers and other losers, who were drooling over half-naked chicks on MTV. 

"Mickey, son, come here!" He hears his father's roar. Mickey learned from the youngest age that disobedience is always followed by punishment. His dad was sitting in the kitchen with other men. All were drunk and barely could hold their heads upright. Dad puts his hand around MIckey's shoulder and pulled him to stay next to him, demonstrating him to his 'friends'.

"Here, that's my youngest." He says, grinning uncharacteristically pleased, "The most handsome. Looks like me when I was kiddo myself."He guffaws and Mickey feels the thick smell of alcohol in his breath."And brainy like his papa. Not like the rest of the imbeciles I feed." He snaps pointedly towards the couch where his brothers were sitting. None of them batted an eye. It's barely an insult anyway. "My heir" he continues proudly, brushing Mickey's hair, "The inheritor of my Kingdom." He gestures generously to the old rotting walls as if he was indeed presenting a whole kingdom. "My tsarevich." 

His friends laugh, hooting something in agreement. Terry sends him away with a short light slap on the cheek and goes back to his friends. 

Mickey doesn't know what is love. Anger that's the emotion he is the most familiar with. But those short moments Mickey thinks that he loved his father. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Mickey is nine but still manages to carry his father's half-conscious body to the bed. He's drunk again and was sleeping on the floor. Everyone left and even if they didn't, no one really would care. You need more than a cold floor to bring a Milkovich down. But Mickey stubbornly grabs onto his shoulders with his small hands, pulling him up. He drops him on the dirty bed, lifts his legs, and throws them in the same direction. 

"Uhm," Terry groans, "Mikhailo." He recognizes his son, with a sudden smile. He must be dead wasted, "My son. My tsarevich." He says same old shit, brushing his head."You will make your papa proud." He says in intoxicated joy.

"Dad. Sleep." He pulls an old blanked on him. 

"Are you going to make your old man proud of you, son?" He asks stubbornly 

"Yeah, yeah." He says trying to sound natural, even though deep inside his heart was breaking into small painful pieces.

Mickey is nine when he knew that he probably won't make his papa proud. He is nine when the curly boy down the streets bursts into his life like a hurricane without any warning. It's the first time when feels something that he shouldn't feel towards any boy underhand condition. He is nine when his life changes forever. 

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

Mickey is nineteen and his body hurts like fuck. He knew that it will have consequences, and, honestly, he is just lucky to be alive. Although there was an episode or two when has doubts about the necessity of living. Breathing is painful, not to mention moving his body. So when the door to his room opens he flinches which causes a wave of killing pain mixed with fear when he sees the massive figure of his father mounting on the doorframe. He doesn't know what to think. Is he gonna beat him again? Is going to finish what he has started? He's relieved not to see a bottle in his hand. The older Milkovich doesn't say a word. He silently almost hesitantly approaches and sits on the armchair across his bed. Mickey doesn't look at him, doesn't dare to turn his head to look at his father's face, and his father doesn't rush into the conversation either. 

"My father called me Taras when I was born," he starts, "It's here in America it was changed to Terrance, but my old man called be Taras till the very end," He says. His voice is even and flat. "After Taras Bulba. A fictional commander from an old Ukrainian story or some shit. Papa loved to tell this crap, but who the hell would listen to his bullshit." he scratches his unshaved chin."One thing I remember for sure is that he killed his son because that ungrateful peasant dared to fall for a wrong pussy." 

Mickey was slowly catching up. It's a warning. He then stands up and walks out, only on his way out he freezes for a second to say. 

"I am not a monster. I am doing it for you. You will thank me one day." And leaves and Mickey wishes his dad beat him to death right there, right now then. Mickey never understood 'words hit harder than a fist' as he did now. He hates himself for feeling guilty. 

  
\--------------------------------------------------------------- 

"You were an awful father," Mickey informs him. "You weren't the father I wanted you to be. Not even close." he sighs, "But maybe I wasn't a son you wanted me to be too." He admits. 

He doesn't want to cut him any slack, but after a two-hour-long tantrum, where he told his father everything he thought about him, he can feel more or less receptive and open-minded. 

"I am not gonna make any excuse though. Ya hear me? You were a shitty excuse for a person. But...you probably were the best version of what you could be. You never been happy. Not a day. And I, no matter how hard you try to disrupt it, am happy.“ He sips another gulp, "So damn happy. You want some?" He pours a bit to the humid ground. "You've never declined vodka." 

"You can be happy, by the way. I'm not with Ian. But don't get too excited. I'm dating his brother. The older, curly-head, the smartass one. " He laughs, "Yes, Gallagher again. Fuck you. I know you hated Ian's ginger ass, so the fact that I'm fucking his brother behind his back may entertain you." 

"I didn't do it as revenge if that's what you think. Cause I know that's what you would fucking do. Or did. Does uncle Ronnie know that he slept with his second wife?" 

Takes a gulp.

"My man is amazing. Remember one time we've stolen that red shiny cabriolet from the gas station. How shiny your eyes were. How you were drooling over it. That's exactly how I feel every fucking time my eyes catch him. You would hate him." He lets out a laugh, "Seriously, he would drive you fucking nuts. He's a terrible liar. I'm telling ya, he would sell us to cops by total accident." Mickey leans further back, making himself more comfortable. It's getting colder, "He is caring. So fucking caring. Runs me ragged running around like a mother hen with my diet, with my study, with my mood swings...with me." 

Another sip 

"I love him, ya know. I finally feel complete. And you never had that." He faces the gravestone and in the dark with a patch of reflected lights, additionally to his drunk brain, do the trick, giving him the illusion that there really is someone sitting on the other side of the stone. "And you never will. And I feel sorry for you, old man." 

He looks into the darkness, feeling that he dropped a ton-weighing burden off his shoulders. The freeze found its way to his body, going up to his body, making him shiver.

"Was a nice chat, dad. The best one so far. But don't expect me to visit you very often. Maybe once or twice, if I will happen to be around." 

The increasing sound of footsteps distracts him. He sees two dark figures coming in his direction. With each step, their step forward Mickey recognizes a painfully familiar mop of curls and ginger head next to him.

"Lip." He breathes out. His body reacts before his brain can process anything. He quickly shortens the distance between them and throws himself on Lip's neck, making the other man moan in surprise. 

"I gotcha," he says pulling him closer. "Fuck, man. We were looking for you everywhere." he sounds worried. Mother hen.

Lip grabs his face looking into his eyes, studying his face and body for any hint of visible injuries. Mickey leans onto the touches, craving for more. 

"'m fine," Mickey protests. 

"Never do that again. I was worried." He whispers with a serious tone, looking deep into his eyes."You're fucking freezing," Lip unwraps his scarf and wraps it around Mickey's neck. The latter doesn't protest. 

"I peed on his grave," Mickey says, he tries to control his voice, but it comes out shaky anyway, eyes are burning with tears that Mickey doesn't let out. Lip's hand stops moving. He lifts his gaze to Mickey's face, studying it. 

"I'm sure he would be disappointed if you didn't." He says softly, smiling. Mickey smiles back.

_He knows~_

_He always knows~_

_Lip gets him~_

"Let's get you somewhere warm." 

He pulls Mickey away towards the gates. 

"Are you coming, man?" Lip calls for his brother. 

"Yeah. Coming." He hears him saying with a delay 

They walk away not seeing Ian's wide eyes and face expressing a shocking realization. 

"It's impossible." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whassup guys. 
> 
> Sorry for the late update, but if I'm right, I suppose to have more free time in the future, which (finger crossed) will let me update more often. 
> 
> Have no idea what's Terry's age or second name, and the name 'given to him by his father' is absolutely my imagination. Although there is a famous character Taras Bulba in Russian literature, who in fact killed his son for falling for enemy's daughter. It's more complicated than that, of course, but you got the point. Highly recommend to check it out. It won't leave you indifferent.  
> Ian finally figured out. YAY! Finnally  
> There are 8-9 chapters left till the end of the fic. Hope you will stick till that.  
> Thank you for reading, for comments, for kudos and for being adorable. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> P.S Mickey didn't really forgive his father rather than excepted the fact that his father sucked.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. Guess who's back. I am really sorry for the late update. Cannot blame tight schedule this time. Had a writer's(LOL) block. 
> 
> There are gonna be three flashbacks. I didn't point out the dates, but you have to know that it takes place after Mickey forgave Ian and before they have a fight about identity of his boyfriend. 
> 
> W: I didn't edit it, and won't be able to do it for awhile. So read it at your own risk.

It's impossible 

Sitting alone in the kitchen, Ian was repeating it over and over again in his head, even though deep inside like a tsunami wave was raising a fact only a blind wouldn't see and only an insane would miss: it was possible and it was true.

How can it be though?

Lip and Mickey. Lip and Mickey? Ian lets out a dry laugh. No! Come on. The only idea about sounds be insane, right? 

.....

Right? 

Ian concentrates and digs deep into his memory for any clue, for any mild hint until jigsaw puzzle pieces build into one plain clear image. 

Flashback 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

***Flashback***

_Ian is heading to the restaurant. It's a peak hour, but this was the only time-window he could dig out of his busy schedule._

_Honestly, Ian feels like he could have spent all his free time here. It's reaching a ridiculous level of patheticness? patheticism? Whatever. He wanted to spend whole his time with Mickey, he was craving for his presence. And when he wasn't around, all he could think of was him. Teenage Ian has always been captivated by teenage Mickey. Adult Ian managed to cultivate it to full idolatry. Mickey's glow-up wasn't left unnoticed, and Ian was half step away from writing poems and singing serenades, or at the least from standing under his windows with a boombox up above his head. Mickey would probably kill him or would cut all ties and could blame him for that. But Ian couldn't help it. He was flying in his direction hypnotized like a fly flying towards a pile of shit. This Mickey was more mature, interesting, understanding, and funny while keeping the charm, recklessness, and confidence of his young self, which has always been Ian's favorite things about Mickey. And he is so-o hot. He became everything Ian wanted him to be, but ironically this perfect version doesn't want him._

_Mickey...he...well Mickey was not interested. Ian was bald enough to secretly hope that it's just a show, or that he that Mickey needs more time to get old feelings back. But days were passing and Mickey kept his polite neutrality ongoing, not knowing or just not being bothered by Ian's agony._

_And all these thoughts about Mickey's boyfriend kept haunting him. It was surprisingly hard to imagine that Mickey could have the same thing he had with Ian but with someone else. Not that he doubted any shit, but they went through so much, and he and Mickey always had this deep connection that would always bring them together. It is something, right? And even the very idea of Mickey being with another man as close as he was with him was inconceivable, unimaginable. He was torn apart by the desire to interrogate Lip about that guy and by the anxiety to hear the truth. By the fear that, damn yeah, Mickey has something special with the other man that is not Ian. That their special connection is not so special after all._

_Of course, Ian screwed up the last time, but...but what? What? Mickey has to come back to him like a punching bag because of their miraculous 'connection'? Ian feels like a douchebag yet once again. Maybe that's the thing. He keeps and keeps screwing up. Mickey probably was done with him long ago._

_Ian knows this all is so fucked up. He knows that he has to stop thinking about Mickey and let him go, for good, and fucking call his own boyfriend. Or ex-boyfriend. Fuck. Ian is so fucked up._

_After the last fight, which honestly was Ian's fault, David said to call him when he figures his shit out. It was two months ago and Ian is an asshole._

_With a heavy heart, he walks into the restaurant to see that it's loud, it's crowded, and beyond full. He catches a glimpse of Mickey, waltzing around the tables, looking alarmed and angry, like a fearsome chipmunk. Chipmunk that can knock you out with a right hook._

_Mickey meanwhile notices and throws an expectantly irritated look._

_"Yeah, Ian, good fucking time you chose," He says flatly, passing him by. Ian follows him as if Mickey chained him up to himself._

_"Many people, huh?"_

_"What do you think?" He snaps half-heartedly. Ian has got used to it. Ian is just happy that he talks to him again. That he is allowed to come to see him. "Russian wedding. You better watch your back, ginger." He lowers down his voice and picks up a tray with dirty dishes maybe not very gracefully, but confidently." Those people want to get drunk everything in a radius of twenty feet and smooch everything in a fucking arm span. Pretend that you are in a prison shower. Don't pick up the soap." He warns. As if proof to his statement Ian has to watch an old woman grabbing Kev by his face leaving sloppy smack on his lips, while he tries to escape politely, and another man keeps tugging his collar, pushing a shot glass to his face. "Hey, Kev. I told you. Don't pick up the fucking soap."_

_"I don't care. She tips well." He grunts._

_"A-and the award for the best prison bitch goes to..."_

_Kev flips him off._

_"But, seriously, though. Go hole up somewhere with a juice box."_   
_He says leaving, "And tell your brother if his Craigslist assholes won't be here in ten minutes I'm going to bust his ass."_

_With a laugh, Ian takes his way to the bar counter where he finds Lip in front of the cash register._

_"What?" He mirrors Ian's grin. Ian delivers Mickey's message, making Lip snort._

_"Busy day?" Ian leans on the counter and suddenly it gives him a view of Mickey in the hall talking to a young woman. Well talking is an overestimation. She is seemingly asking something while he tries to wave her away._

_"You have no idea." He shakes his head over the register, "You are on time. How about you shake things up a bit?" He throws him the cloth, which Ian catches and unfolds._

_"Oh, no." Ian groans_

_"Oh, yeah." He pats his shoulder. I'd go myself but guests want me to drink with them, no matter what I say."_

_"In Russia alcoholism is not diagnose. It is a lifestyle." Svetlana passes with a box in her hand._

_"Mhm-mhm" someone pointedly clerks throat, making both Ian and Lip look. "Hi!" She starts overly cheerfully, "I am Rebecca. I am a Golden Flour House representative. You are Lip Gallagher I believe." She says while looking at Ian, not Lip._

_Ian doesn't respond, just points to Lip next to him. She flashes in no time, losing all her initial enthusiasm._

_"Oh, God. I am sorry. It's my first day. The angry water said to look for you here. He wasn't very specific. Said 'curly handsome asshole with a shit-eating grin' and I..." she quick stutters quickly._

_"Don't worry." Lip he stops her jabber. "We are bothers. Shit eating grin is in our blood. What your company does?"_

_"We are bakery food suppliers."_

_"Yeah, no. We have our own suppliers, but you can leave that. I can check out later." He points to the flyer she is holding_

_"Oh," she looks down at her hands as if she forgot she had those, "Thank you."_

_Lip turns back to work, at first unaware of Ian's steady gaze with an incredulous smile, but eventually looks up._

_"What?"_

_"Did Mickey just call you 'handsome asshole'?"_

_"Which part surprises you, again?" Lip makes a full turn, wearing a joking curiosity expression._

_"Definitely not the asshole part," he says shying away from a piece of cloth Lip tosses him._

_"Oh, you think you are one funny motherfucker, don't you?" He says, hitting with a saggy towel. "How about now? Huh?"_

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

_'It was a tough day' Ian thinks when he finds himself staring at the wall for the past 'who knows how long'. The truth is it's not just a day. He feels this way for a while now. Ian catches himself spiraling more than not. He is exhausted, sleep-deprived, and anxious. He gets tired faster than usual, all days were turning into the same one day, only on repeat. Whole life like a groundhog fucking day._

_He needs to take a rest._

And sleep. 

_That's what he needs._

_He gets distracted by Lip who gets out of the bathroom in his underwear, rubbing his head with a towel. Something catches his attention, which wouldn't happen any other time, but Ian's processing capacity significantly declined, making him spend noticing insignificant details._

_"Are those your boxers?" He finds himself asking, pointing to his underwear, "You wear boxers?"_

_Lip looks at him doe-eyed and then looks down at the cloth on his hips._

_"What?"_

_"I..." Ian, honestly, has no idea why it bothers him so much. He can't explain it. It feels like a weird gut feeling that he needs to ask it. Lip prefers briefs, and...Ian wants to bleach his thoughts away."Nothing. Just exhausted."_

_Lip's face gets a worried expression._

_"You okay, man?" He holds him by the shoulder, bending down to his level to look at his face._

_Ian looks back at his brother's concerned face and sighs. His disorder plays ticks with him whenever he let his guards down, but right now his life is settled. He has a job, he and Lip back to good terms, Mickey's in his life again. He has his family, he has his friends, he has his brother that always got his back. There is always something that gets him back to the game, something worthy to fight for, his anchor..._

_"Yeah," he smiles. "I'm good"_

_...so his fucking disorder can suck his dick._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------_

  
_"He cut sugar from my diet," Mickey complains, he finished a pint of beer and was tipsy, which is already weird itself. As long as Ian knows Mickey, beer has always been a permanent substitute for water. He used to drink it throughout the day and was as sober as a judge. But thinking about it now, Ian didn't see him drinking anything strong lately. "I was this close to eat the vanilla candle."_

_They are sitting on the couch in Mickey's place. There's an opened box with half-eaten pizza and the game on the screen is on pause._

_"Close? So it's not your teeth print on candles? Could have sent it to your dentist." Lip makes a face, "And found him on the floor in the middle of the night covered with cookies." Lip says bending over him to look at Ian._

_"I was sleepwalking." Mickey snaps._

_"No, you weren't."_

_"Yes, I was. And I am not starting this argument again," he raises his finger in warning._

_"Uh-" Lip's phone starts to ring, "I gotta answer it. We didn't finish." He says, turns away before Mickey flips him off._

_"I wasn't sleepwalking," Mickey says as a matter of fact." but that buzzkill schmo doesn't have to know about it." He leans forward to take a joystick._

_"You bicker like an old married couple." and Ian had his own good portion of beer tonight, but for a second he thinks that something changes in Mickey's expression while his hand freezes over the joystick. But it ends too quickly to be considered weird._

_"Fuck you!" He laughs abruptly, a bit too loud, and punches Ian at his left shoulder._

_Ian ignores the familiar suspicious hiss in his chest. He has a history of being way too imaginative._

***End of the flashback***

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Signs, SIGNs, SIGNS! All this time they were all over around. Ian is an Idiot not to see them. Big fucking dumbass. They could have stood under the 'boyfriends' neon signs, Ian wouldn't notice, because he is dumber than a teaspoon. 

'Ian', 'Ian', 'Ginger', 'Red', 'Ian'- Mickey kept calling him by his first name since they met again. Ian was stupid enough to be happy about the fact, thinking that he got promoted from just 'Gallagher' when in reality he stopped being the Gallagher for him. 

  
Small insignificant at first things were building up in a picture. There was no doubt now. Mickey and Lip are dating, but how is it possible?   
  
Ian hears their front door opening. It's the middle of the night and everyone's asleep, except for Lip, who hasn't got back from Mickey's. Ian hears Lip's footsteps getting closer until he sees his silhouette coming into the illumination of the kitchen.   
  
"What are you doing up so late?" He says surprised, standing behind the kitchen counter. 

Maybe it was something in his expression, in his face. Maybe it was heaped ashtray piled with stubs, or just the fact that he was sitting alone in the half-dark room, because the next thing he says is, "So you know" he concludes. 

And it gets to his nerves, that he doesn't try to deny or come up with something. He just gives it away so easily. There is a stretched silence after that, which Ian spends glaring at him and Lip looking down at his hands. 

"How long?" Ian finally asks, and his voice is dry and raspy. 

"Does it matter?" Lip mutters, averting his gaze. 

"Is that why you jump into the fight with me? Because I dumped your boyfriend?" 

"No, it happened later."

It supposes to calm him, but it only adds fuel to his anger. Red is all Ian can see right now, and, honestly, no one has the right to blame him. Everything about him, enrages him right now: his calmness, his stupid steady voice, his firm posture and understanding tone. Ian hates it. 

"So what? You are gay now?" Ian feels his face twisting.

"No." Lip sighs. 

"You are playing with him? Couldn't find anyone to experiment with-?"

"What? NO! I...." He cuts himself, inhaling sharply, "I love him." He exhales slowly. 

Ian sucks in the air with his eyes wide. Love? He...he didn't think they went so far as... Of course. 

"The cake. That was you!" It hits him. 

Lip doesn't respond, but nods. He feels as if lightning has struck him. Lip is his Boyfriend. The boyfriend. That guy...Fucking hell. Ian can't stand this anymore, he jumps from his chair outrageously. 

"Whole this time when I was talking about his boyfriend, it was you. Whole this fucking time it was you!" He points at him. Lip's shoulders fall and his head falls in surrender and all he can do is to give another nod. "Why! Why him? Of all people. Why it had to be him?"

"That wasn't a choice. I didn't fucking plan it." Lip dares to look at him. 

"All along...all along you knew how I felt about him and you lied...lied to my face." He looks away, grabbing into his hair. 

"I know. I'm sorry-" He lifts his hand to get his attention, even though Ian couldn't see him. 

  
"Are you? You must have had a good laugh dumb little Ian with his dumb little heart-" Ian was far gone, and it was hardly possible to stop his outburst at this point. He leans forward and slams it with both hands 

"It's nothing like that!" Lip bursts out and Ian gets his mild portion of satisfaction now that his ostentatious calmness is washing off. 

"Were you even planning on telling me?" 

"Of course." 

"How? Dropping a message on MySpace? With an invitation to the wedding?" He throws the table away in anger. It hits the wall with a loud bang.  
  
"I am sorry. What do you want me to do?" Lip yells back. 

"Break up with him!" And Ian doesn't mean it. It comes out before he can stop himself, but what he hears makes things worse. 

"NO!" He yells, with his eyes inflaming with an all-burning fire."I AM NOT stepping away from him. He is mine, whether you like it or not!" 

Ian steps back in surprise. He doesn't know what's going on between them. Fuck, until this day he didn't know they were anything but pals. But, right now seeing his brother throws him under the bus for the guy, Ian feels a downfall. 

"Him? You choose him over your own brother?" His voice shakes. 

Ian sees a twist of pain on Lip's face. And he knows the answer even before he hears it. 

"If you put it that way..."

Ian feels like he has lost. And lost big. In one night he lost his best friends, bother, and any hope. His anger vanishes away getting replaced by dull melancholy and this time he has no desire to resist it. He was recessing so rapidly like he never did. Ian has nothing to hang on to, he lost his anchor. 

"I don't want to see you..." He whispers, "Never again." 

He needs his bed. This all... this all is too much. On the stairs he sees Debby, Carl, and Liam, watching him with a worried expression on their faces. They heard. He passes them by. He needs his bed. 

"Ian, are you ok?" He hears Debby's voice behind. He doesn't respond. He is not okay. He will never be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally happened. Ian knows. Like, officially knows.
> 
> I had a lot of problems with this chapter. This is my third draft. Initially, Lip was supposed to come and Ian would literally ask two questions and then leave him saying that he deosn't want to see him. But it seemed too dry and unreal. So I added some flashbacks, and actual fight. 
> 
> The squabble at the beginning of the third flash back is shamelessly stolen from the sit-com "Baby daddy". It's a cute little bicker between Riley and Danny. Wanted to add some domesticity into their dynamic. 
> 
> Thank you for reading ( like really thank you)


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys.  
> Hope you guys liked it. I need to point out that Franny is around 4 (maybe younger).  
> You probably not gonna hear from Fiona anymore. At the end chapter I will explain what happens to her. She'll disappear from the plot, but not form her family's life. Just so you know. There are few chapters left before the end. 
> 
> Thank you, for ready, commenting, kudos and just being lovely people. 
> 
> Have a nice day :)

"Shit"

"Yeah. And now, Debbie is in jail until her trial begins, Ian doesn't leave the bed, and Franny keeps crying without Debbie. I am scared that she will spit her lungs out eventually." Lip rubs his forehead, "I don't know what to do, Fi. I feel like I failed. I failed all of us." 

After Lip and Ian's fight things went down the hill real fast. After Ian didn't wake up the next day, Lip knew things were bad, but when the cops busted Debby the same morning, it was officially fucked up. He had to ask Svetlana to cover him up (again) and look for a proper lawyer, someone who didn't find their license in the bottom of some dumpster to defend Debbie on the upcoming trial. Lip doesn't know how deep this shit she got herself into, and maybe he is a little bit mad at her. But more about timing she has chosen to screw that girl rather than about the arrest itself. She's a Gallagher. Nothing else to add to that. 

In short breaks between the work, Lip feels a sharp painful pinch of guilt...guilt and fear that he made have caused something irrecoverable, that if he told Ian from the beginning things would be less radical. It's been two days since he and he had a fight and he didn't make any attempts to get out of the bed, or talk, or literally do anything. This fact really freaks Lip out, that what if he never recovers? What if he never will be the same and there is only Lip to blame for it.

Liam and Carl take care of him, while Lip does his best to disappear from his periphery for that period.  
  
'I don't want to see you. Never again.' 

Ian was more than clear about it. The last thing Lip wants to do is to cross the boundaries Ian has set, even the latter can't do anything to object. Especially, because he can't object. Deep down Lip knows he is not so eager to face his brother yet. He is not sure what he is scared to see more, indifference, or aversion on his face. He's run this moment in his head thousands of times. He knew it was coming, which doesn't ease the pain anyhow. He finds it harder to wake up in the mornings, he finds it hard to go to sleep. Well if three hours of tossing and turning in an empty bed can be called sleeping. He hasn't seen Mickey for these three days, which didn't fucking help at all. He wonders when he became so dependent on having this angry little man in his bed, in his life. He wonders if this angry little man struggles the same way (Author's note: he does). 

"No, Lip, come on. Don't take all the blame. You did all you could." She leans to the screen, "It's not your fault that just it wasn't enough."

Lip sighs, "I can't stop thinking that if I could go back in time to our fight, I could have...I don't know been more patient or-"

"I know, hon. You are doing great."

"It sucks to be head of this family." And Fi knows what he is implying. 

"It wasn't that bad." She smiles. 

"That's the news from my cult. How is your cult doing?" He asks with forced cheerfulness. 

"Well. The trial is postponed. Again. And..." She frowns, before asking baldly, "Do you think I would look good with blond hair?" 

Lip is surprised by the sudden change of the mood. Did they eventually rewire her brain after all in that place? 

"Uhm, sure, I guess. I don't know," he mutters under his nose.

"Ugh, fine." She looks away, but then looks back, "How about Samantha? Do I look like Samantha?"

"Sammi? Luckily not." He still has no idea where is she going with that. 

"Wha-? Ew no. Name Samantha. Not that skank. Does it suits me?" 

"Okay, Fi. Be more specific. The fuck is going on?" 

"After the trial, I am getting under a witness protection program. Have to move away and change my whole life. They are working on my new identity right now." She shakes a file with her photo clipped over it. 

Lip whistles, "Yeah, no shit." 

"Mh-mhm. When you single-handedly destroy belief hundreds of undernourished hippies committed their life to, shit can take an unpredictable turn." she gives him a sad look, "They won't say where they are sending me and I won't be allowed to contact you for sometimes. Just don't worry about me." She leans forward. "I don't care what they say, I will find a way to do it one way or another, okay?"   
  
"Fi, no. Don't, if it's too risky. You wanted the new start, a new chapter. Here's the chance" 

She wanted a new life, but it doesn't mean she wanted to erase her old life. 

"Lip." she smiles. "Shut up." 

He just smiles back. 

"How is Mickey?" 

"Sexy" He raises an eyebrow and holds a smirk.

"God, you are awful. You know that?" She lets out a groan.

"Will see him tomorrow morning. We couldn't meet in these two days. I had to be at home for this time being and he had to be at work until Svetlana finds someone to replace him." he rubs his face again. He feels exhausted. 

"How does he feel about the whole Ian situation?" 

"I don't know. We never talked about it." Lip admits. They didn't. They probably should. Talk about where they are now. Make sure they both want the same, they still feel the same. But Lip doesn't feel like talking. He is tired of talking. He just wants Mickey. Is that too much to want? 

"It's gonna be fine." she assures him, "we've been through a lot worse shit. Remember?"

"Yeah. Ya right." He says, even though he doesn't really believe it. 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

"I think something's wrong with this kid," Mickey says not tearing his narrowed in confusion eyes from Franny, who was staring back with an almost identical but predominantly curious gaze. They've been doing it for a good half an hour. "I think she is broken. I think I've broken her." 

Lip that is sorting the laundry looks up and smiles. 

"She is fine," he approaches Mickey from the back, "She just finds you amusing, and honestly, I totally get her." He leaves a smack on his cheek, patting his niece's head. 

Mickey doesn't react and keeps staring at her. Their staring contest continues until Franny suddenly doesn't lift her tiny finger and pokes his cheek, curiosity expression never leaves her face. 

"Eh," Mickey is not sure if he should judge this child. Is it allowed to judge toddlers? Meanwhile, she keeps poking him. "Okay, enough for now." 

He puts her to the ground where she starts to cry as soon as her feet touch the ground. 

"Oh, no. Not again!" Liam groans passing by carrying a box twice his size out of the house. He spent the whole previous night trying to calm her down, and half of the morning until Mickey didn't come and she miraculously stopped crying, before she could dehydrate herself to death. 

Mickey lifts her up and she immediately stops crying, "Huh," he puts her back, she starts to cry again, he picks her up she stops. He tries several times before he feels smack on his ass.

"Cut that shit," he hears Lip.

"Looks like I found a cool party trick." He lifts her up. Lip comes from behind and wipes her tears off. The whole Gallaghers bunch looked like zombie part of the cast in the Walking Dead. No wonder, they had like a day or so, to make the dumpster can they call home something livable for anything less adaptable than a rat. After Ian and Lip's epic fight, right the next morning cops came and charged Ginger chick, Gallagher, for sleeping with underage. With the only parent is under arrest, on top of that they also get to get a child custody service upon their asses checking the condition under which the child lives. When you think shit could get worse, it actually hits the fan. 

"How long am I suppose to hold her, again?" Mickey asks, holding her a bit far from his face, as she tries to poke his cheek again. Her finger is sticky, for fucks sake.

No one replies, suddenly getting too preoccupied by cleaning their shit. 

Shitheads. 

She has driven them nuts over these two days. When Mickey entered the house she was in a full tyrannosaurus rex mode, yelling with an unimaginable to this small body volume. But, after seeing Mickey she for an unknown reason changed her mind. The rest of the house let out a sigh of relief. 

"So?" lost in thoughts, Mickey misses the exact moment Carl grew in front of him "I guess I am the next?" He says, with a Calvin Klein Bieber smirk. Something in his tone Mickey finds suspiciously repulsive, he doesn't know what yet. 

"For what? Brain transplant?" He feels his arms getting numb and transfers the girl to his other side. 

"Nah. To get a piece of you." he puts both hands on his chest," First was Ian, now Lip. Liam is too young. Logically I am the next one." 

Mickey gapes at him ...

"Not bragging, but this boy never had a complaint." He points to his crotch 

And stares at him...

"Everyone leaves satisfied." He clarifies in case Mickey didn't get it. 

And stares at him...

"CAN SOMEONE HOLD THE BABY FOR A MOMENT? SOMEONE'S IS BEGGING FOR HIS BALLS TO BE BUSTED!" He yells not tearing his eyes from Carl. Luckily Lip is there to save the day. He puts his hand on Carl's shoulder and gives Mickey an apologetic smile. 

"Ignore him. Carl is kidding. We dropped him a lot as a kid. He doesn't mean it. Right?" He looks down at his brother, who looks up not really getting all the tension he created. 

"You're hurting my shoulder." He informs wryly, nodding towards Lip's hand on his shoulder. 

"I know." Lip smile is still there but looks manically, and honestly, just creepy. "This, Carl, is called a warning." 

"Pfft, whatever," Carls walks away too cool to be bothered, swag in his walk is more prominent than usual. 

"See? Nothing to worry about." He leaves a quick peck on his lips. After Gallaghers learned about their relationship status, the need to lurk has dropped itself and now they can be all touchy-feely they want. Mickey can't say that he likes it, but he doesn't hate it, that's for sure. It's just really annoying to blush every fucking time. 

Franny pokes his cheek again. 

"Pink" she says. 

"Okay, monkey. Enough is enough." he carries her to living room, "Let peasants do peasant job, while you and I create some art." He puts her in front of the old coffee table with papers, crayons, colored pens on it and sits next to her. To his relief, she doesn't complain and goes to the activity right away. After she rudely ignores a couple of Mickey's professional suggestions, he decides not to interrupt her and just watches Gallagher carrying all the shit out of the house. Particularly, he watches Lip sweating around. He observes the way his muscles flex when he lifts that heavy box, and how shiny his skin gets with all the sweat covering him. He must be smelly, dirty, and gross...God Mickey wants to lick that sloppy pig all over his body. 

Fuck. 

Don't judge him. It's been four days, which is unbelievable by his current standards. 

Mickey knocks his head against the table and lets it rest there. Franny throws at him a surprised look. In a second she puts down the pencil she was holding and gently puts her head down next to him, facing him in exact same manner. 

"You know Franny, when you'll grow up you will meet one very special boy." he considers for a sec," or girl." She blinks, "Make sure that they don't have a hot sibling that will wreck your world." 

She quickly blinks. She hears him. 

"This whole thing sucks. We knew it would happen and should have been more prepared for it. Be smart about it, ya know." 

Mickey was avoiding to think about it at all costs. He was terrified by the day when Ian finds everything out. He can't admit it to anyone, and it's so humiliating, but he still has a fear that Lip will dump him because of Ian. Just a thought gives him a shiver down his spine. It's irrational, it's stupid, it's unlikely to happen, but...but his life takes so many weird unpredictable turns, there might be a turn that will bring him to his knees. For the love of everything that is holy in this world, he hopes this is not that turn. 

He and Lip didn't discuss the situation with Ian. Mostly because there was nothing to discuss. Everything is crystal clear. He knows, as a consequence all Gallaghers know, Ian's depressed, Debbie is in jail, Lip is busy as always and Mickey doesn't know how to talk to him. 

And now we come to the actual problem...

"I don't know how to talk to him," he whispers to the surprisingly focused kid. 

Now that Ian knows because Mickey's had to choose the right time to go all whiney whiny bitch with him around.

"I think it's all my fault." 

He could have just go to town and suck him in.   
  
But the point of crying over spilled milk, right? Since they haven't discussed this whole mess, Mickey is not sure where they are now? What to do next? Do they need to talk about it? Or is there any protocol for the situation when you consistently bone your ex's brother? Mickey is adept in a lot (like a lot) of life aspects. But you have to agree it's a dilemma everyone would find challenging. 

Before coming here he's spent whole half an hour in front of his closet staring through in frustration. Lip called him and said that he needs him and of course when he was about to headlong in South Side's direction the dilemma raised. How much of his stuff does he need to take, or rephrasing it- for how long Lip expects to see him? He's going through a lot and might needs some privacy. Mickey doesn't want to be clingy. Okay, too late with that one, but he wants to make sure that Lip has space when he needs it. 

"Am I overthinking again?" Franny doesn't respond.   
  
That's why he dropped his shit at Milkovich home...just in case. Which thinking now is a good idea. It would awkward the least to say sleep in the same bed with a half-way to the comatose state Ian. Plus, if Lip needs him he's always around. 

"You are a good listener, monkey. Who needs stupid shrinks when I got you. You and me can have plenty of fun." 

She studies his face for while then says. 

"I need to pee" 

Mickey's eyes widen in horror. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She let him go eventually, in the evening. Well, technically she falls asleep and Mickey cowardly fucks off. He lets her down on her bed and quietly (God forbid, she may wake up) goes out of the room. He finds Lip downstairs in the kitchen. He's on his phone and hangs up on time when Mickey sits next to him. 

"Ugh. Jesus Christ. How long I have been here? What day is today?" He drops his body on the chair. Lip smiles at him,

"It's exact same day, you drama-queen." 

"Feels like weeks to me." 

"Yeah, she has that effect on people. But honestly? She is the most obedient kid I've seen. Like Debbie when she was her age." 

"Mhm-mmm. She also has been making you sing Frozen chick song all day long?" 

"No" he huffs, "Little Mermaid." 

Mickey laughs, and he wants to reach out for his hand and squeeze it. He wants to get his portion of attention from Lip. It's been days since he's been held in those arms since those lips were on his lips. But also, Mickey really doesn't want to be another weight in the number on his shoulders. He looks like he may fall any moment, and hopefully on something soft. He needs to sleep, and Mickey won't be the reason he won't get any. That's why he says.

"I gotta go." He stands up.

"What? Where?" Lip stands up rapidly, eyes worriedly running across his face. 

"Home." Lip frowns, "Milkovich home." He clarifies, "I will be here in the morning. Before Monkey wakes up." 

"It's not that," Lip's expression doesn't change. "What about me?" 

He approaches Mickey slowly catching his hand and squeezing slightly.

"I also need you." He with the other hand catching his waist and slowly moving him forward. 

"You do?" Mickey stared at his lips, suddenly feeling out of breath.

"Of course I do." He is so close, Mickey feels his breath on his lips.

Someone loudly clears his throat.

"Get a room already," says Carl walking from the living room towards the fridge where he takes out a bottle of bear. A-and the magic is gone. 

Mickey turns to him, looks into his eyes, and says. 

"I can't stay here." He points out, "Where am I going to sleep?"

"With me." comes an immediate answer, "Where else?" 

"Lip, it's kind of weird. Sleep in the next room with Ian in that state." 

"He has a point," both, Mickey and Lip, give Carl a look. 

"I...I didn't think about it," he says, with a slight shade of embarrassment. 

"Of course, you didn't." Mickey smiles at him, reaching for his face and bringing their foreheads together, "When would you, you were busy as fuck the whole this time. You got me for that" 

Lip closes his eyes and breathes in. "Mh-hm" he moans, and Mickey thinks if he doesn't leave in two minutes, he'll never be able to leave. 

"Fuck!" He steps back, "Gotta go. See you in the morning." He leaves a smack and storms out like chased by demons. 

"I didn't believe till the last, but you officially switched the teams." He says, also watching the door through which Mickey has retrieved. 

"Mhm," Lip confirms, and without a word of warning leaves a hurtful punch on Carl's upper arm 

"Ouch! What was that for?" 

"You know what." 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

... seventy-five sheep, seventy-six sheep-

He had to talk to Mickey, didn't he? 

...seventy seven sheep, seventy-eight sheep...

It was so bald of him to think now that everyone knows they only need to transit their relationship from indoors to outdoors. 

... seventy-eight sheep, seventy-nine sheep...

Yet another blunder to the list of his personal screw-ups. He had to think it through, before calling Mickey. He had to talk to him. 

...eighty sheep, eighty-three...

He was excited to have his disaster by his side. Why the fuck he suppose to sleep apart from each other, though? He turns to the side where supposedly is a direction of Mickey's house. 

... eighty-five..

It's ridiculous! They are grown-ass men, so why the fuck they suppose to sleep separately? They are not doing anything criminal, for fuck's sake. He blows air out vigorously. The decision comes surpassingly easy. He jumps quickly upon his feet, not bothering to wear any shoes or pants. Lip throws a jacket on his shoulders and slips his feet into the slippers he finds next to the bed. He's planning a short journey. Lip almost sprints downs the stairs, shoving his arms into the jacket on the way. In the back of his mind, there is a thought that he probably should be quiet, but then euphoria takes a lead and he almost trips over the hole in the carpet. 

He probably had to call him first, to warn him that he is coming, but he left his phone upstairs and he wants to make a surprise. Lip opens the front door, while the childish part of him can't wait to see Mickey's face when...when he almost bumps into mentioned above Mickey, standing on his porch...

...In the middle of the night.

They must look comical gaping at each other with the same perplexed expressions on their faces. 

"What are you doing here?" Mickey's hisses loudly.

"Living." Lip whispers back

Mickey clears his throat and asks in the normal, steady voice "No, dumbass. Where are you going so late?" 

"Out. For jogging. Good for sleep." and there's nothing really embarrassing about wanting to see his boyfriend, Lip thinks. And frankly speaking, Mickey already knows how Lip is obsessed with him, so nothing new on this site. But, he is taken off guard and needs to play for time to assess the situation he has turned up to be in. 

"Wearing that?" Mickey examines him up and down, from jacket over the topless body to briefs and slippers. 

"Mh?" Lip looks down, trying to express the best naive innocence he can pull off, which is not a lot. "What's wrong with my outfit?" 

"Nothing. Nothing!" Mickey plays along, "Just don't want someone hit on you while you're running around in that sexy underwear." 

"Yeah?" Lip licks his lips, "And what are you doing here so late?" 

"I...Eh..run out in a rush, forgot something." He says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. At least, his outfit matches his excuse. 

"What is that?" Lip grins, stepping closer to him. He pulls unnaturally bashful Mickey by the jacket closer, bumping their bodies together. 

"You," Mickey breathes out, "I forgot you here." hooking his lip with his own. The kiss is refreshing. Feels like the first sip of water in the desert. Stroking tongue against his own tongue, in combination with his favorite smell, and loving hands pressing so hard into his skin- Lip is losing his mind. He presses Mickey against the wall. His hand hits something in the process, that falls to the floor and by the sound breaks into the pieces with a loud crack. 

"Can you be quieter, please? Some people are trying to sleep here." Franks's head appears behind the couch back. "Ian, take your friend upstairs, you are not animals gentlemen." 

The electricity runs through Lip's body with a mention of his borhter's name. He frantically looks at Mickey. Did that scare him away? To his relief, unbothered Mickey was flipping Frank off. 

"I am Lip, jerk. Not Ian" he says.

"No-o. No!" Franks stands up, swaying left and right, "I remember for sure, Ian is the faggot one, and Lip is booze abuser." He points to his temple, "I'm not that shit of a parent." 

"Yeah, you may want to re-access that statement in that shit pile you call head," Mickey says irritated by the ridiculousness of the conversation. "My place?" He looks at Lip, impatiently. 

"Yes!" 

"Unless you don't want to go for a jog around the block?" 

"Oh, I am gonna jog. Horizontally, in your bed." 

A trip from one house to another doesn't take long, just like a way to Mickey's bedroom. They don't tear apart for a second the whole way, not getting enough of each other. At this moment, they both turn into teenagers, driven by emotions and pure desire. They peel off each other clothes with honed to perfection moves, leaving only underwear. Lip drops him on the bed and gets on top of him, immediately tugging him into another kiss.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard," Lip whispers, breathing heavily into Mickey's ear. "So hard and so good," Lip sucks into his neck, biting in between, while his hands run across the hot body under him.

"Fuck, yes." He moans in response. His body was itching for him way too long. "Do it." It feels so good feeling the heaviness above him. 

"I'm gonna make you come so hard."

Lip's voice gets quiet, hands moving up and down also slow down. 

"Lip?" Mickey looks down at his boyfriend.

"Yeah, baby. Say my name." Lip mumbles. His head is resting on Mickey's chest, eyes tightly locked, mouth is mumbling something. 

"Are you serious?" Mickey gasps, "Right in the middle” Lip doesn't respond. "Should I take it as a fucking insult?" 

"Mickey," another moan. Well, at least he is having sex with Mickey, even without Mickey...You go the point. 

"I'm gonna make you feel so good." 

"Yeah, yeah, cowboy. Sleep."

Mickey runs his fingers through his hair, buries his face in curly hairs, and leaves a soft smack. He pulls the blanket from the edge of the bed and covers both of them. They need to sleep. 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. Sorry for the long update. I am officially starting a new job, so the last couple of weeks were a bit hectic for me. Hope you enjoy the chapter. 
> 
> WARNING: 
> 
> Description of a suicide attempt (kind of).
> 
> There is a character who is going through a life-crisis. 
> 
> There are tons of mistakes and mismatches since I was really writing my ass off as fast as I could. So be aware.

"We have to show you to Dr.Phil or something," Mickey says studying Franny's artwork on the second week he babysits her. 

Takes another one, "You can become next internet sensation and make me rich." Mickey thinks out loud, "Or get me to the prison. And knowing my luck degree, the second one is more likely." He murmurs not tearing his eyes from the A4 size paper. 

"How the fuck do you do it?" He asks the little girl who's quietly leading the line on the paper. "Monkey, what is it?" He shoves the paper he was holding to her. She spares a quick unnerved glance and goes back to drawing. 

"Waket." She mumbles under her nose. 

"Rocket?" He asks, skeptically flipping upside down. "Ok. How about this?" He points to another colored piece of paper. 

Another glance. 

"Jruf" 

"Giraffe." He concludes. "Am I a pervert?" he asks the girl who throughout these days learned to ignore his not so rare monologues once for all. The front door opens letting Lip in with pizza boxes in one hand and plastic bags in another. As a gesture of greeting, he leaves a smack on Franny's head and then one long promising kiss on Mickey's lips. 

"Eh-" his gaze falls on one of the freshly colored pieces of art Franny made, "I don't think that you suppose to teach her to draw that," he says departing to the kitchen. "But I am impressed by her loyalty to the concept." 

"You see that too?" Mickey exclaims. "Thank God! I thought I was losing last drops of something close to common sense." He exclaims. 

"She's driving you mad?" Lip comes back with his hands empty from baggage he left in the kitchen and sits on the couch next to him, so close, almost leaning on him. Mickey doesn't mind at all. 

"Nah, she is surprisingly fine. But there are unexpectedly limited things we can talk about. Because she is, you know," he leans to him and says quietly almost conspiratorially, "kid." He whispers. "She is very sensitive about it." 

"Ok?" He twists his face in comically, Mickey meanwhile dramatically throws himself back on the couch and sighs. Lip leans back next to him and it doesn't take long for Mickey to drop his head on his shoulder. Lip without skipping a beat brushes his lips against his temple, deeply taking in the head-spinning scent of his lover every other second. 

Things weren't really bad...or good. Things just were the way there are. Nothing has really changed since Mickey and Lip practically moved back to South Side over two weeks ago. Lip still was juggling with the restaurant and his sibling's problem. Debby's still in jail, Mickey's there to look after Franny and Ian's still not giving any sign of life except for a pulse and lazy breath. The last one was the most disturbing. They've tried everything. Well, Liam and Carl tried everything. Maybe, also Frank. Lip and Mickey are following an unspoken agreement not to get interfered at any cost. The very last thing each of them wants is to make things worse. Even though it seems like things can't get worse, history proves otherwise. Of course, Mickey was tempted more than once to storm into his room, grab that lifeless body by the shoulder and just shake the shit out of him, yelling at his face to wake the fuck up. But he obviously he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to open that damn door because... because it was simply hard. He carries a major part of the blame for his condition. Ian, no matter what, is his friend, and seeing the result of Mickey's reckless decisions was unbearable, to say the least. That's how he was spending these days now. 

Two weeks was enough for Mickey to understand that he is not a housekeeper. Back in the days, it was Mickey's dream job but now his body was physically aching to do something. To go out to the world, somewhere not to the park or the playground. 

"I thought I'm gonna love chill at home with the kid, watching cartoons all day long, but after the novelty wore off it became so tedious." Lip shoots his brows at Mickey. 

"Yeah, me and Monkey binged watched Sherlock again. I have a thing for curly-heads, sue me." Lip huffs and hangs his arm around Mickey, pulling him closer. "I am rotting in these walls. Today I caught myself watching a cooking show and running in my head all the ingredients stocked here." he mumbles, melting under loving arms, "Don't get too surprised if one day I'll be waiting for you dressed as a housewife from '50s. " 

Lip huffs, "That's..." He starts and makes a pause, Mickey looks up at him "irrationally hot" and makes 'that' face. 

"What? Don't even think about it!" 

"I didn't say anything." 

"You didn't have to. I know that face too well. 'NO' unless you are the one who is putting a dress on, but even then you'll have to go solo. I'm not into that shit." 

"You're being unfair. I did wear the thing you asked me to wear in the bed the other time." He says leaning forward and lowering his voice. Mickey rolls his eyes. 

"It was one time and a mechanic shirt and women gown are polar opposite concepts. We are not discussing it." Lip looks almost heartbroken but Mickey decides that there have to be some boundaries. Mickey has to practice stoicism and saying 'no' to the owner of his heart should have it down to a fine art. 

Lip sighs.  
  
"You want me to ask Liam to watch after Franny?" 

"Nah, the kid needs to study ...or whatever scam he's doing there nowadays. Actually, I was thinking..." He turns to face Lip, "Monkey is four or something, right?" 

"Or something, yeah," Lip confirms. 

"Should we send her to baby juvie?" 

Lip eyebrows shoot up, as he blinds quickly. "Say what again?" 

"Ya know. Baby juvie. Where she can connect with her community." He utters pompously, "Her people."

"Kindergarten." Provides Liam who comes out of nowhere with a cereal box in his hands. 

"That's what I said." 

"That's not-!" Lip starts, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"They won't take her." Liam interrupts and sits down on the chair, "It's the middle of the semester, and normally parents line-up before they even decide to consume a baby, so good luck with that." Mickey's face falls.

"And there is no chance?" Mickey straightens up looking up at Liam with disappointment slowly building on his face. 

"Unless you're related to Kardashians." Liam shrugs. 

"Hold the fucking on." Mickey suddenly beams, "I AM related to Kardashians." 

"Really?" Liam grimaces and looks at Lip who shakes his head 'have no fucking clue'. 

"Well, Asian Kardashians and not by blood but...doesn't matter." he jumps off the couch with more vigor than through these entire two weeks combined. 

Confused Lip looks at Liam for a clue. 

"Don't look at me, he is your boyfriend." 

"I have to go out, keep an eye on Monkey." He manically storms out in his own unique manner.

"Yeah, they definitely not gonna accept her," Liam says, crunching cereal grains. 

"What are you talking about. She is adorable. Right, Franny?" Franny offers a crayon in response. 

"That's not Franny I'm worried about." He says looking in the direction Mickey has just left. 

"Come on, it's not like he..."Lip thinks about how to formulate it, without sounding in-genuine or forced. 

"Hey, he is not here." Liam points out, "you may wanna give it a rest?" 

Lip wants to say something in protest, but then 'hey, he is not here, so he may as well give it a rest'. 

"Don't spoil your dinner." He says instead. 

\--------------------------------------------------------- 

Mickey hears inadequately loud voices from his house long before he reaches the Milkovich porch. Years ago Mickey wouldn't bat an eye, but now since Becca is an absolute and permanent monarch (and Mickey is far smarter than arguing with a deeply pregnant woman), anybody and anything wasn't aloud to irritate her senses that increased with geometrical progression making her equal to Spiderman. Mickey would never risk crossing her path. She would never kick Mickey out of his own house, of course, but she could do that to Lip, who was sleeping exclusively in Mickey's bed again. He doesn't know what caused the noise but he already felt bad for them. 

When he reaches the porch, he can clearly distinguish foreign speech. Agh, mommy tiger is here. He was lucky so far not to witness Iggy's description of Gorgon herself, but apparently, Becca's mom visits once in a while throwing tantrums right and left. The door rapidly opens when he was just about to do it himself, displaying Iggy's in-laws in all their glory. There's a furious-looking short woman, who Mickey guess is her mother and overly soft and guilty-looking man, father obviously. 

"是谁？" she slightly turns back at Becca, not tearing her full of disgust eyes from Mickey. That's a good start, Mickey thinks. 

"是他的弟弟." he hears Becca's tired voice from inside. 

"你还跟他的弟弟一起住?" she makes a rapid full turn back.

"妈，管你自己的事。好不好?" Becca snaps angrily。 

"你! 你...!" she doesn't finish and just marches away angrily followed by her husband on the tail. Poor man throws an apologetic smile to Mickey, which Mickey returns because unlike this dude he doesn't' have to deal with that thing on day to day basis. 

"Wow." Mickey freezes out after he hears them driving away,"Have I missed a family reunion?" 

"Don't worry, the next show is around the corner." She sits on the chair, elbows the corner of the table, her big belly trapped in between. 

"Where is my dumb brother?" He sits across her. 

"My mom was here, so probably hiding somewhere. Tell him it's safe to come out."

"Actually I'm here to talk to you." Becca looks up at him curiously. "Ehm," he clears his throat, "Remember you said you can arrange your kids to literally any kindergarten?" 

"Yeah, certain things come in a complement with being rich and famous." She wrinkles her nose. 

"Can you do that to someone I know?" 

He expects her to ask some questions, but she doesn't even bat an eye "Sure,"

"So, why was your mother here again? Aside from testing our house for earthquake resistance for free. She has a surprisingly loud voice for such a tiny woman." 

"I told her that we are expecting triplets. She freaked out." 

"Triplets? Fuck," Mickey furrows, "I thought there are a least four. Lost Mandy twenty bucks." 

"Ouch," Becca kicks his shin while talking on the phone with grace unnatural to a person under her condition. 

"Done. They are waiting for you next week with all documents for the interview."

"Oh, no. No, no. I can't do that. I'm awful at interviews...or takings" 

"The interview is not for you, dumbass. It's for the kid." 

"For...she is like four. What are they gonna ask her about? How often she poops?" 

"Don't worry. It's a standard procedure, probably gonna ask her some simple questions, and maybe will ask her to draw something." 

"Oh hell, no"

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"Don't worry Mr. Milkovich we will just play with her and ask a couple of questions. It's a standard procedure." says Bethany 'Please, call me Beth' who looks like someone who is not old enough to work here, but Mickey was raised by TV and his father's belt so he doesn't complain. "You have nothing too worried about" 

"I hope not," Mickey says, waiting for Franny from her interview. They've been there for more than fifteen minutes and Mickey's agitation cost him 50% of his nails. He is about to ask the time again when Mrs. Lopez comes out holding Franny by her hand.

"Mr. Milkovich," she gives all promising smiles to him, "we finished here. Usually, we don't do that but since Miss Lin personally vouched for you, I don't see a reason to refuse." She says smiling to Franny, "Miss Lin mentioned that her mom is...temporarily not available," she tactfully drops the reason for her absence, "but since you are her uncle...." 

"Uh...I am her uncle's boyfriend." He corrects and hopes she won't change her mind. "He is extremely busy nowadays. But I tell him to stop by as soon as he'll have a spare hour." 

"Of course," a permanent smile doesn't leave her face, "Now that we established that you can take her at two-"

"Wait. I leave her now? I...I didn't prepare her...I didn't know that I'll have to leave her. I'd bring her favorite bear and...and..."

"Please, Mr.Milkovich," she puts her hand on his shoulder and smiles kindly, "It's only three hours. It's a wonderful opportunity for her to adapt to the new environment. She'll be fine. Will you?" She looks into his eyes and Mickey thinks 'of fucking course' he will be fine. But will he be fine. For the past three weeks, she was a permanent part of his life. In moments between cartoons and drawing they managed to bond and abandoning her in this place feels like a betrayal. He looks at her and she doesn't seem really bothered, and that kinda gives him courage. He has a history of being overdramatic, and it's not like he is leaving her forever. Besides she will have to get used to it eventually. 

"Okay, then I will go...then," surprised by his own sentimental reaction Mickey puts his hand on Franny's head and says, "Be good and have fun." 

He turns around quickly before he has another attack of sentimentality, calculating in which direction is the nearest coffee shop when. 

"Mickey! Mickey! Mickey!" he hears before feeling a little body smack against him right at the moment he turns around. She tries to climb her way upon him, and he obediently lifts her up. 

"Hey, you called me by my name." It's not like he thought that she doesn't know his name, it's just she didn't have a need to call him before cause he's been always there whenever she needed him, so there wasn't really a necessity. She hides her face into the crook of his neck, "What is it, Monkey?" He asks, trying to look into her face. 

"Mhm," she protests, "No." And points to the door they came from. Okay, he was thrilled about getting her into the kindergarten that missed the part where he has to actually leave her in kindergarten. 

"You don't want to..." He looks quizzically at Mrs.Lopez, not sure what to do. 

"It's normal behavior. It happens all the time. Don't worry." If he tells her not to worry one more time, he'll repot to FBI that they run an illegal child sweatshop here, he thinks. "Here. Come on, Franny. Show Mickey toys you liked, go ahead." 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"Monkey I think you are being unreasonable here," he starts after 15 minutes of playing, "This is your place. I look ridiculous here." She spares a glance, just keeps pouring imaginary tea in plastic cups. "And this feather boa makes my skin itchy." He scratches roughly his neck and fixes his tiara from falling. "God forbid someone sees me here. My reputation is irrevocably ruined. Are you listening?" 

"Tea," she hands him a plastic cup and gazes at him with scrutiny until he takes a sip of air from the cup. 

"Yum," he makes a face. 

"As I was saying-," she shows him two tiny bottles: one is yellow another is purple."What? You want me to choose? Yellow looks alright." She opens with the cup with her tiny fingers which turn out to have a brush with a yellow substance on it. It's nail polish, realizes Mickey with horror. 

"No. No! We are not doing it." he then whispers sheepishly, "I let you paint my nail one time with crayola crayons. I'm not..." She doesn't even let him finish his talk just catches his large palm and places it on the table, with scowl too artificial to such a young face. Mickey doesn't protest. "You must miss your mom a lot," he says instead. "Fine, do whatever you want." He sighs. 

There are lots of other kids around. They are dirty, they are loud and generally, look intoxicated. No one is really paying much attention to them, luckily or not. But then a yellow ball hits Mickey's shin, another girl is standing near looking at the ball and then at Mickey half shy half cautious. 

Mickey lifts his fingers to Franny, "I can't. My nails are still drying." He then expressively blows on them. She puts nail polish on the table and with a grace of four-year-old strides to that girl with the ball in her hand. 

"Mr.Milkovich, quickly. Time to leave." Before he can get what the fuck is happening 'Please, call me Beth' drags him out of the playroom with the strength beyond the tiny women. "That's it. You can take her at two. Don't be late." She says cheerfully. 

"Oh," he squeezes out of himself. Wait. Isn't that what he fucking wanted? Get the fuck out of there. He needs to boogie before she realized he's gone. But then the crystal clear image of Monkey appears before his eyes, how she is approaching the table, doesn't find Mickey and turning her head right and left looking for him. Resentment and betrayal are so clear in his imagination, it's physically painful. 

"Yeah, you know what? I'll probably stay for a while if you don't mind" he says and walks towards the door and is fully ready to enter back to that loud playroom and sit there three hours straight, but he doesn't. Through the glass window on the door, he sees Franny running around with other kids and loudly laughing. 

"It may come as a surprise but kids are more pliable than us adults. We have a thing or two to learn from them." he hears Beth smiling. 

"I guess, I gotta go," he murmurs, a bit embarrassed by, his behavior. He hesitates for a second or two, but adds, "I have business around if she needs me...Just give me a call." Beth nods, suppressing a knowing smile.

"Mr.Milkovich," he hears when he almost left. He turns around quickly, "Uhm," she points to her head and neck, which reminds him of the tiara and neon-pink feather boa scarf that is still on him. 

"Oh, right." He quickly takes it off and hands it to Beth's stretched hands. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------   
  
Numbest one: an old bag

"So Mr. Milkovich-" said an old woman sitting in front of him at the massive, unnecessarily expensive-looking wooden table. 

  
"Just Mickey"

She immediately throws him a glare full of disapproval pinching him down to the couch. Well, great. No need to have a degree in psychic science to know that he and this old bat are not gonna get along.

"As I was saying Mr. Milkovich, I believe you are not amateur in psychotherapy, and I don't see a reason to explain how it works."

Mickey raises his eyebrow, which supposes to mean WTF.

"Tell me your problem!" she snaps. 

"Fine! Jesus, lady." He sighs, "Uhm, the whole shit started when my fucking excuse for a father-"

"Okay, Mickey. You need to stop here." She interrupts him in a very rude way. "We use civilized language in this chamber"

"Huh?" 

"Stop cursing!" She yells  
  
"Yes, ma'am" 

Mickey looks at her dumbfounded, which she ignores. What the fuck is wrong with her? 

"Uhm...I...erm." turned out it's hard to express himself when he is not allowed to use the good half of his vocabulary.  
  
"Please, Mickey. Don't hold anything back." She says with a restrained smile. 

"Yeah, lady" Mickey makes a face," You gotta be more specific here. I shouldn't' hold back or I shouldn't use bad language?"

She sighs, takes off her glasses, and wipes them with a honed gesture. 

"You are not going to be easy, aren't you?" She asks, taking out a cigarette and lightening it. 

Mickey's mood brightens up. 

"Can we smoke in this chamber?" 

"Not you." She says dragging in a delicious smog. 

.....bummer. 

Number two: walking dead

"...and then I found out he left me a letter. Can you imagine how it feels like to... Are you listening?"

The man in front of him startles looking around as if he didn't know that he was there for the whole time, then his eyes catch Mickey.

"Yeah, yes, yeah." He sits straight, gaze focusing at him for the first time through the session. By the bowl-sized eyeballs is obvious he is high as a fucking satellite. 

"So, George..."

"Mot my name."

"Greg?"

"No."

"Gavin?" 

"Mickey" 

"Close enough" 

Mickey gapes

"As you were saying..." He takes out a pill container, "You have a problem with your wife."

"No"

"Fiance? Girlfriend?"

"I'm gay." 

"That makes life a lot easier," he sighs, "Women are so problematic." He takes out a pill, puts one in the mouse. Catching Mickey's skeptical look informs, "I have a prescription." 

"Of course, you have." Mickey mumbles 

"It's for my glaucoma," he adds

"Mh-mh," 

"Do you want one?" he asks slyly and Mickey looks around looking for a hint of hidden camera. Is it some social experiment shit is going on here?  
  
When he looks back his potential therapist is sitting there already unconscious, while saliva is drooling down his chin.   
Should he call someone? 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

"And that's how I got into a fight with my sister, brother, and ex-wife. Well, technically Svetlana just happened to be there, and I couldn't resist a chance to fight with her." 

Mickey can't say if he likes this woman, simply because she didn't give any mild reaction/comment or anything to work with. She's been just sitting there for the past half an hour and listening(?) to him. Without even blinking, if you think about it. Whether it's some psychological trick or whatever, it worked. The burden of unbearable silence forces Mickey to spill everything without her asking any question. 

"But we kinda made up, I guess. I just couldn't wrap my fucking finger around how the fuck they could forget all the shit our dad did to us. Even now when he is dead for..." 

Mickey spends half an hour talking to the stone face of the woman was taken way back when her lip started to tremble and her face started to slowly pull down. 

"Hey. No. Don't cry. He wasn't a good person." He stretches his hand, not sure what he said wrong. That was a catalyzer for her sob to turn into full mode blubber.

"Oh, no. What have I fucking done now ?" He groans and immediately sits next to her. There is a lame attempt to pat her on the shoulder, which she probably interprets as an invitation because she just throws herself on taken aback totally uncomfortable Mickey. "Eh...There, there." 

He feels entirely awkward. If it's another sort of trick, it's definitely not therapeutic. Mickey wants nothing more than to go deep down into his shell and never come back until this woman stops squealing. Meanwhile, she makes herself comfortable around Mickey's neck and keeps crying out loud. The situation is taking a ridiculous level. 

"Okay, that's it." He roughly takes her by her face and firmly says, "If you want me to help you, be kind fucking talk, will ya. I'm not fucking mind-reader." 

She nods letting out a suppressed howl, 

"I am not happy." She says. 

Mickey frowns, it sounds like bourgee problem of a rich college girl, "Who is?" He makes a face instead. 

"No, you don't get it. I hate...hate my job. I studied physiology because my parents wanted me to. I don't have any romantic relationship and have no friends left, because they're all married and at some point, there was nothing we could talk about."

"Ehm," honestly, Mickey gives a dime of shit, but etiquette demands him to say something, "I'm sure it's not all that bad. You are a great therapist with..." he spins his head right and left, looking for certificates and prizes shrinks so eagerly put on the most visible spot, "all of those certificates." 

"No-o. No. I can't help those people. She points to the hall. I can't help myself, how am I suppose to help them?" She whines loudly. 

"You would want to be fucking quiet here. There are fucking people in the hall," he grumbles. 

"I don't even like my job. And...and this morning I found this." She points to her head. 

"Brains?" 

"No! Gray hair. I do the job never wanted. I live in a house I never liked. I am 38 and I've never lived a day of my life." 

Mickey was done with all the tantrums she was throwing. That was his service to receive. 

"Okay. Then the fuck you wanna do." She suddenly stops crying and looks at him wide-eyed as if he said to go sacrifice a baby.   
"Okay, missy. You are a grown-ass woman and have only one life. You wanna screw it over, that's your mondo place to choose, but guess what? If you let a bunch of asswipes tell you how to live that is also your choice. You can dry your eyes our about it all you want, or you can grow fucking up and stop blaming others for being candy-ass wuss." 

By how her face changes color with every word Mickey was saying, he expected to get a loud, juicy, painful slap that never came. Instead, she stops crying abruptly and swallows thick saliva. 

"Then where should I start." Mickey feels both relieved that she is not crying and annoyed that she decided that he's supposed to resolve her life crisis. He didn't sign up to be anybody's life guru, thank you very much. 

"Okay, you were weeping about your job," he reminds rubbing the bridge of his nose, and feeling the headache rolling with waves over him, "Is there anything particular you want to do?" 

"I...I always wanted to," it's a very obvious blush on her very pale two seconds ago cheeks, "It's very embarrassing. I mean...it's not even serious." 

"We have fifteen minutes left." He reminds impatiently. 

"I wanted to write romance novels." 

"Oh, no." Mickey mumbles. 

"Erotic novels to be precise. I wrote a couple of them already and I have to say they were received pretty good." they are fizzy notes in her voice and her eyes give away a spark. 

"...Sure. All professions are important." he forces himself to say. 

"You think?" if Micky was tempted to say forget that horrible idea at first, it melts under those eyes full of so much hope. 

"Of course. You like it. People like. The rest can go fuck themselves." he shrugs. Another writer of books for bored housewives can't hurt, right? 

Her gaze changes to something Mickey doesn't quite get, but suddenly he's so aware of her hands around his neck and the way her breath speeds up. 

No, it can't be...

When she leans to kiss him he stands up swiftly making her fall on the couch, "O-okay, that's enough. I have to go." He fixes his clothes. 

"Already?" She looks up, "But we didn't talk about..." 

"No. No need. I think I'm good. Just...Yeah. Bye." 

He can't help the shiver when he paces out of the office. 

  
\----------------------------------------------------------------

"....and for the past three weeks, I live in my old house with my brother blah-blah-blah. What's your conclusion, doc?." He finishes friskily not even bother to sound interested in his own life. Therapists in this city are insane or possessed by something from the worst place. 

"I see, Mickey. Is that okay if I call you, Mickey?" He clears his throat.

"That's my name. How else you would call me by." he brushes him off and rubs his face. 

"Right," he clears his throat again, "As I was listening to your story very-very carefully," he says looking up from his notes, and for a brief moment, Mickey feels like he is being talked like with a five-year-old. "I have noticed you have quite a relationship with your partner." he clears his throat, once again. Is he allergic or something. 

"So?" Mickey really tries to take it seriously, patronizing tone repels him away. 

"I have to be open with you," clears throat, "I think there's something about your relationship that seems a bit...off. I don't want to use word mutually distracting..." Clears throat, "but the words beg to be implied in this precise situation." Clears throat," And the way your partner encourages the toxic behavior in you cannot serve you in any good manner...Mr...Mr. Milkovich, what's-? Why are you standing-... Mr...Mickey where are you going? We have 40 minutes till the end of the session." 

Mickey loudly slams the door behind him. Fucker. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

"Come on. It can't be that bad," Lip catches his hand as they walk through a long hall. He literally had to drag him to see another shrink. Mickey is giving up, all these so-called doctors are brainsick. He didn't want to get up off the bed today and spend the whole day googling how to get a quick degree in psychotherapy. He needs it. He loses objectivity, and lately, he finds himself more doubtful than usual. That's why Lip ended up bribing him with a trip to a pastry shop after a session if he checks out the new therapist. 

"No, I'm fucking not. All shrinks in this city are nuts. They need to have a therapy or ten themselves before helping other people. I swear to God, those fucking crackheads should not be allowed around any people." 

Lip squeezes his hand, "Don't worry. This one has to be good. Rob suggested this dude and he knows people." Mickey gives him a skeptical look, but it was hard to get worked up under the depth of those blue eyes. Mickey looks right and left, making sure there are no witnesses. He leans forward and sucks him into the short sweet kiss. Lip's hand is there to pull him by the waist closer, deepens his kiss. That is the side of him Mickey always was fascinated by. He's never felt hesitant or self-conscious about his desires. He wants it he gets it. When Mickey eats himself out with doubts and fears, Lip just dives in headfirst. Mickey secretly thought it was really, really sexy. 

"Fine," he says pulling away. He remembers the time he would rather die than initiate a kiss in a public place. But now it feels unbearable to walk hours straight without having a taste of those lips. They turn around the corner and honestly looking around this place doesn't feel very...very encouraging. Dr.Weber was also having a private practice, but her office was located in a lot more, ehm, professional place. Mickey was smelling Indian curry from downstairs, and someone just handed a flier offering a foot massage, so don't blame him for being skeptical. When they reach his office door Mickey stops him. 

"I want to do it alone. Sit there." He points to the seats next to the door. "Don't get too comfortable." 

"Alright," Lip whispers with a warm smile. 

Mickey opens the door of the office, greeting sticks in his throat and he feels how his face falls in a millisecond. 

"Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me." Mickey snaps loudly not holding his rage. Lip jumps up and appears next to him, and they both watch a man, his potential doctor, was standing on his desk in the middle of his office and trying to squeeze his big bald head into the hangman's knot swinging down from the ceiling. "Are you fucking...No, I wash my hands of it." He turns around and marches towards the exit. "LIP!" He yells when he doesn't see him walking after him. 

"Coming," he reaches him in two big steps, "Should we help him down." He looks back heisted. 

"Dude decided to hang himself in the middle of the day, right before his patient comes. I really doubt he actually wanted to die." 

Mickey sighs, and Lip catches his hand again, "Hey. I'm sorry. I really thought he'll be helpful."

"Not your fault. I guess I need to stick with my current consultant." 

Lip lifts up his eyebrows. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------

"Monkey, we need to talk"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here is the thing: 
> 
> Everything Franny draws resembles a specific male reproductive part. (if you didn't get what's the deal)
> 
> I have no idea how people in the USA send their kids to kindergarten. Like, no clue.
> 
> Becca's mom was speaking Chinese and didn't really say anything specific. You can google it if you want, but honestly, the tone of her speech was more important.


End file.
